Change of Heart
by Gertrude2034
Summary: Wilson is with Amber, a female version of House. So what would happen if House went out to meet a female version of Wilson? House O/C romance.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 - Change of Heart**

"You know, I've been thinking." House leant back in his chair, carefully cradling his whisky and looking out over the Friday night crowd in the bar.

"Uh-oh," Wilson said sarcastically. "That can't be a good thing."

"No, seriously. I've been thinking about you and Cut-Throat Bitch."

Wilson sat up straighter.

"Now I _know_ that can't be a good thing. What exactly has your twisted brain been considering?" Wilson asked, although he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. "And her name is Amber, by the way."

"_Amber_ is very different to your wives, would you agree?" House asked, still looking out over the bar, ignoring Wilson's slight.

"Yes," Wilson agreed, hesitantly. "So?"

"In fact, I would say she's almost the polar opposite in terms of the type of women you normally date.'

"I guess."

"And are things going well?" House turned to look closely at Wilson, wanting to check the honesty of his response.

"Things are going very well," Wilson answered, keeping his gaze steady. "Very well indeed."

"Hmmm," House nodded, seeing it was the truth.

"So? What does that mean?" Wilson was starting to get impatient.

"It just means that I'm thinking of giving it a try." House knew he was deliberately being mischievous but, as always, he couldn't help himself.

"House, you must be stupider than I thought if you think I'm letting you near Amber! I can't believe I finally found someone I like and you're telling me you're going to…" Wilson blustered.

"Oh shush, that's not what I meant." House decided to give up the tease in the face of Wilson's anger.

"All I meant was, maybe I should follow your lead and look for a girl that's the opposite to what I would normally go for."

"What, you mean someone other than a twenty-three year old hooker?"

"Yes, that's precisely what I mean."

"Interesting." Wilson mused for a moment. "So what would be your opposite?"

"Well, how would you describe my type? You know, the type of girls I normally go for?"

Wilson thought about the small handful of women he'd seen House involved with, or express his attraction to, and tried to sum up if he did have a "type". There was Stacy, of course, and before that, a few random women from the hospital and one he'd met at a medical conference. And Cuddy, although he couldn't admit to House that he knew about that.

"Right, well it's hard to summarise because even though there haven't been that many," House scowled, but Wilson ignored him, "they've all been pretty different."

He paused to think for a moment and then started counting of a list on his fingers.

"I'd say: tall, slim, long haired, confident and self-assured, intelligent – that CIA doctor was an anomaly – highly sexual, into one-night stands, and the younger that package can come in, the better. Oh, and a bit of mysterious psychological fucked-up-ness would be in there too. Of course, I don't know what you ask for when you hire hookers."

House was both impressed and a little offended by Wilson's description. He wasn't going to admit that he'd had very few one-night stands in his life, especially not in the last few years. Unless he was paying them, it was a big deal for him to get naked in front of someone, not only because of his scar, but getting older and being unable to exercise the way he used to, he just didn't think he was that attractive any more. He also had no intention of telling his friend that when he called hookers the only stipulation he made was that they be blonde – otherwise it was cheerleaders, schoolgirls, bondage mistresses, anything and everything in between.

"Okay," House began. "So, for my opposite, what we need to find ourselves is someone short, tubby, shy, unsure of herself, uneducated and sexually inexperienced. But no virgins. I couldn't deal with that. And brunette."

"Why brunette?"

"Just because."

"Someone _nice_," Wilson added.

"Ugh, yeah, I guess."

Wilson shrugged. "Fair enough. That's a pretty complete picture."

"Yeah, and it's not doing anything for me. Perhaps this isn't going to work after all."

"You can have someone who's all those things and still attractive," Wilson said, trying to be encouraging.

"Really? I doubt it."

Wilson took a look around the bar, trying to find someone to fit the bill.

"Look," he pointed to the far corner where a group of women were gathered, drinking and talking noisily. "That girl in the blue cardigan."

House looked over to the group that Wilson had pointed out. The women were obviously up for a big night, the table already crowded with empty cocktail glasses, the giggling loud enough to hear across the bar. The girl Wilson had pointed out was smiling, but not laughing as animatedly as the rest of the group. She stood back a little from them, in a way that telegraphed that she wasn't quite part of the gang. Her hair – blonde – was pulled back, so it was hard to judge its length. She wasn't that short, probably just slightly below average height, and while she wouldn't be called overweight, she wasn't toned in the way House normally preferred. She was wearing a knee-length denim skirt and boots. The blue cardigan was demurely buttoned up, not showing the vaguest hint of cleavage.

"She's blonde," House said dismissively.

"But she fits the rest of the criteria," Wilson encouraged.

"What, you can judge her IQ from over here?" House bit back.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "No, but look at her friends. That's not a group of lawyers out celebrating closing a case."

"So what does she do, according to your mind reading skills?"

"I'm guessing maybe kindergarten teacher. Which would be perfect for you."

House ignored Wilson's implied insult and checked the group out again, noticing for the first time that one of the women was wearing a white headband with a strip of tulle attached. Another woman screamed with laughter as she let a plastic, wind-up hopping penis bounce over the table. When it fell off the edge, several of the women seemed in imminent danger of having fits from the level of hysterics it provoked. Blue-cardigan girl smiled, but House picked up her faint look of disdain.

"Go on, go over and talk to her," Wilson said.

"Nah, not tonight," House replied, settling back. "It was just a thought."

He watched as one of the women leaned over to blue-cardigan girl and whispered something to her, pointing and looking House's way. House sighed – his and Wilson's interest had obviously been noted.

"What have you got to lose?" Wilson asked.

_Just being rejected again_, House thought. But he shrugged and rose and walked across the room.

--

"Jen, that guy over there is checking you out," Sarah whispered, not at all quietly.

Jen sighed without bothering to look. Of course he wasn't checking her out, that didn't happen to her. Not that she ever really came to places like this where that was a possibility, but even still.

She really wished her sister hadn't talked her into this. She'd had a long day at work and had just felt like going home and lying on the couch to watch TV. But Sarah had made a crack about her spending her life on the couch since Matt walked out and if she didn't start getting out again she'd be the old cat lady that the kids in the street were scared of. Jen didn't even like Sarah's friend Claire, the bride-to-be, but something about the picture Sarah painted had worried her enough to agree to come along.

Jen wasn't dressed for going out to bars, but she'd had to come straight from work. It was alright for Sarah and Claire and pretty much all the other girls there – they worked for fashion retailers, so they just wore whatever latest collections were in store. Jen's work meant she had to be more practical – and she also had unwanted curves that had to be carefully covered. The post-break-up cookies and wine had taken their toll.

"He's coming over," one of the other girls shrieked, loud enough for most of the bar to hear. Jen blushed furiously, sure that he wasn't walking towards her, not with the half dozen attractive girls she surrounded by, but she sensed that even though it couldn't be possible, his gaze was definitely on her.

"Oh Jen, he's a disabled person – just your type!" Claire crowed.

Jen cringed, instantly doubling her dislike of Claire, and hoping that whoever the guy was, he hadn't heard what she'd said.

"You ladies look like you're having a good night." The guy addressed the group but had his eyes on Jen.

She smiled nervously, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. He wasn't even that attractive and he was probably drunk, but it had been a very long time since she'd enjoyed any male attention.

"You look like you could use a drink, though, can I get you one?"

Jen managed to look up shyly, noting that he was tall, blue-eyed and had a cute smile that crinkled at the corners of his eyes. Maybe he was more attractive than she'd first thought.

"Uh, um, okay, I guess," Jen said haltingly, feeling a sick sense in her stomach at being unable to come up with anything more interesting to say. She was sure that if he'd asked one of the other girls they would have had a witty and seductive comeback that would have had him laughing.

"What are you drinking? Cosmopolitan? Japanese Slipper? Tequila Sunrise?" House reeled off the names of the few sickly sweet, girlie cocktails that he knew. Now he'd got this far he knew he had to go through with buying the drink, but geez, the girl couldn't meet his eyes and could barely get a word out. This hadn't been one of his brightest ideas. She had a pretty face, but she was so buttoned-up and tied back that she looked as if she'd snap in two if he tried to touch her.

"Actually I'd prefer a red wine," Jen said. "I mean, if that's okay with you."

One of the other women at the table giggled loudly and Jen was sure it was a comment on her inept flirting skills. Wasn't she supposed to ask him for Sex on the Beach or an Orgasm or some other ridiculously named cocktail just to get the banter started? Oh, she was _so_ bad at this.

"Sure," House said, surprise in his voice evident. "My name's Greg." He switched his cane to his left hand to put out his right to shake. He noticed that she watched his movement, but gave no reaction to the cane.

"Jen."

"Well, Jen, I'll be right back." House turned and headed off back toward the bar.

"Oooh, looks like Jen's getting lucky tonight," Claire sing-songed.

"Don't be stupid," Jen muttered, embarrassed.

"I think he seemed nice – a bit old, but nice," Sarah said, more quietly into Jen's ear. "And besides, sis, it's not like you have to marry him. Why don't you just let yourself go? It's one night. Just have fun. If you find him even vaguely attractive then go have some sex for God's sake! You've been like a nun for the last year. Longer."

Jen didn't need reminding of her drought, but she just didn't think she could let herself go like that. She'd never had a one night stand in her life – she was the classic serial monogamist. And meeting new people had always been so difficult for her: she knew it was her own fault, that she lacked confidence, but she always thought of Groucho Marx, he'd said that he would never be a member of a club that would have him as a member. She felt the same – she could never be interested in someone who was interested in her, because obviously their standards couldn't be very high.

She watched as Greg walked up to the bar and leaned over to give his order to the bar tender. With a sudden realisation that he only had one free hand to carry drinks, she picked up her bag and left the girls, walking over to where he stood. She tapped him gently on the shoulder.

House turned, surprised that she'd followed him.

"Well, hello Jen, fancy seeing you here," he said, trying his best flirtatious voice, even though he wasn't sure it was worth the trouble.

"I, uh, just realised you'd need a hand to carry the drinks," she said, matter-of-factly.

House looked at her with a small frown, trying to find the pity in her gaze, but seeing none. He simply nodded, then turned back to the bartender to handover his cash.

He passed a glass of wine to Jen and gestured back to the group.

"Do you want to go back and stand with them?" he asked.

"Ah, actually maybe we could sit down somewhere else? Is that okay with you?" Jen asked hesitantly. Her sister's words were ringing in her ears. She didn't at all believe it would be possible for her to take home a stranger to have sex with, but at least when she did go home and tuck up in bed alone, she could comfort herself with the thought that she'd made an effort, at least had a conversation with a guy in a bar. That had to count for something, right?

House was relieved she'd suggested sitting down. As much as it was painful for him stand in one place for too long, he also didn't relish going back to that pit of female insanity, especially considering it was a bridal shower and so any male was fair game.

"My friend's sitting at a table over there, but he was about to leave. Maybe we could grab his seat?" House nodded towards Wilson.

Jen smiled in agreement and House was taken aback by how it transformed her face – her dark-honey coloured eyes sparkling with life.

House made his way to the table and slid into a chair as gracefully as he could.

"Jen, this is Wilson, Wilson, this is Jen."

Jen held out her hand to shake Wilson's, bumping the table as she tried to sit down. Their drinks wobbled, but thankfully none fell over. She blushed as she sat down, embarrassed about her clumsiness.

"You can call me James," Wilson said.

Jen looked up at him properly. _Now there's a good looking guy_, she thought. That didn't bode well. She'd only been able to speak to Greg because she didn't think he was all that attractive. Now that she was sitting with someone cute, she'd be completely tongue-tied.

"So, what do you do, Jen?" Wilson asked.

"I, uh, I work with children."

House made an eye-popping gesture at Wilson that Jen couldn't see and that Wilson ignored apart from a slight upturn to one side of his mouth. He'd guessed so right.

"Like childcare or something?" Wilson enquired.

"Something like that," Jen replied, not really listening. She took a large swallow of her wine.

"Anyway, Wilson was _just leaving_, weren't you Wilson?" House said with heavy accent.

"Oh, I could probably…Ow!" Wilson started and broke off with a grunt of pain, a distinct cane-shaped bruise starting to take shape on his shin.

Wilson rose to leave.

"Nice to meet you Jen. Play nice House," he said, warningly. Now that House had gone and picked up the girl, Wilson wasn't at all sure that this whole thing had been a good idea. She looked like a nice, gentle person and he shuddered to think in how many ways House could break her.

"Why does he call you House?" Jen asked.

"It's a nickname. So, are you related to the bride?"

Jen looked confused. Bride?

"Over there. Extremely drunk chick with the tulle on her head. Called me a disabled person."

"Oh no, I'm sorry you had to hear that. No, thankfully I'm not related. She's my sister's best friend. My sister, Sarah, is the one in the red top."

House looked over. Her sister was a bit of a looker – a little too much make up and very revealing clothing, probably a couple of years younger than Jen. On an ordinary night, _she_ was the one House would have wanted to pick up. But, in the name of experimentation…

"So are you part of the wedding?"

"No, I just got roped in to come along here tonight. Not really sure why I came." Jen looked down at the table and picked up her wine.

"Well, I'm glad you did." House smiled his best genuine, open smile and was extremely pleased with himself to see the flush that rose to Jen's cheeks in response.

It wasn't something that House wanted getting around, but he was actually quite capable of using his whip-smart mouth for good instead of evil. For the next twenty minutes he cajoled, flattered and generally charmed the socks off his table companion. It was hard work, but he'd finally got her to relax a bit, sit more comfortably, release the death grip on her wine glass. She'd been laughing and some tendrils of hair had fallen down around her face, framing it and softening her features immeasurably. House's fingers itched to pull the rest of her hair out of its tight knot at her nape and see what it looked like flowing over her shoulders.

"Another wine?" House asked. He might not do one-night stands very often, but this girl might be worth the effort. She'd handled the cane thing without a flinch, so maybe she'd be okay about the scar too.

Jen smiled. Despite herself, she was actually enjoying the evening.

"Yes, please."

"Don't worry about coming over – I can manage," House said, rising and moving over to the bar.

As soon as House left the table, Sarah came running over and sat down next to Jen.

"So, how's it going?" she whispered conspiratorially.

"He's nice," Jen admitted.

"Has he kissed you yet?"

Jen looked disbelieving. "Of course not. We've only been talking for half an hour. And besides, he's not going to kiss me anyway."

"Oh, darling you've got to get over this whole thing. You are very attractive and very kissable. Make sure you touch him when he gets back."

"What?"

"I mean, just make some contact with him – put your hand on his arm, or press against him or reach over and touch his fingers. Anything like that. It lets him know you're interested."

"Thanks Sarah, but I am actually thirty-five years old." Jen rolled her eyes at her younger sister's well-meant advice.

"I know you are. But you've been in a relationship since you were twenty-two. That's like the mid-nineties. Well before _Sex and the City_. You haven't got a clue."

"Great, Sarah, just what I needed," Jen muttered, losing any sense of enjoyment of the night that she'd previously had.

Sarah reached over and undid the top two buttons of Jen's cardigan. "And take out your hair when you go to the ladies room," she whispered, catching sight of House making his way back to the table and leaping up to run away just as he got back.

House couldn't help smiling when he saw Jen's buttons undone.

"Your sister wants you to get laid tonight, huh?" he said.

Jen flinched and looked away and House sucked in a breath. If this was a poker game, he'd just hit when he should have stayed.

Jen couldn't help her hands rising to her neck. She couldn't do up the buttons now that he'd commented, but she also felt exposed, even though there was still barely anything on show.

House watched as she fiddled with the top of her cardigan, sorry that he'd made her feel uncomfortable, but his curiosity piqued as to why something as harmless as a little Friday night flirting was upsetting her so much. How had Wilson put it? _You're attracted to mysterious psychological fucked-up-ness._ Yeah, he sighed inwardly, that was pretty much it. To match his own.

He reached over and grabbed both her hands, pulling them away and holding them in his.

"Stop it. I promise not to ravish you just because you have your top button undone."

Jen couldn't help laughing. She also realised just how much she missed being _touched_. It was so simple, he was just holding her hands, but she could feel the connection all the way through her body.

"Thank you. I'm sorry, I know I'm really nervous and not very good at flirting. I'm not like, the thirty-five-year-old virgin, or anything…"

_Thank God for that,_ House silently muttered to himself.

"…but I've been off the market for a while. So it's all a bit new and I'm just kind of working it out." She pulled her hands out of his and took a long sip from the fresh glass of wine.

"Ah, well I've been _on_ the market for a long time and so it's all a bit _old_ and I'm tired of working it out." House answered, surprised at his own honesty.

Jen heard the new tone in his voice; realised he was being sincere. For the first time that evening she starting thinking about him instead of herself. Wondering why he'd been on the market for a long time. He wasn't gorgeous, but he wasn't down-right ugly either. He was definitely charming and that made up for a lot. Was it the cane? Some women didn't like "damaged goods" – was that why he was still alone? In Jen's line of work, walking with a cane was the least of someone's worries, so it barely registered for her. As Claire had said, "just her type".

She reached over and touched his forearm, without realising she'd done just what her sister had suggested.

"Would you like to go someplace else?" she asked before letting herself think about what asking the question meant. "It's noisy and kind of gross here. There's a nicer bar around the corner."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Well, thanks so much everyone for your reviews! I was a little overwhelmed by the response to be honest...Feel free to do it again. :)

* * *

--

House was honestly starting to wonder if he'd completely lost his ability to read people and this short, chubby girl was about to stab him and steal his wallet. Because if she was, this would be exactly the right kind of alleyway to chose to do it in.

"Are you sure there's a bar down here?" he said, trying not to sound nervous.

Jen let out a little giggle. She was definitely nervous. She'd just walked out of the bar with a stranger and had given a small wave to her sister on the way out. Sarah had grinned broadly and given her two thumbs up. Jen was already thinking that maybe she could lie tomorrow and say she'd had sex, just to get her sister off her back for a while.

"Yep, definitely. It's just around the bend. Watch out for that rice," she said, pointing to a pile of cooked rice that had missed the dumpster. Or just fallen out of it – the whiff of decaying shrimp and old restaurant rubbish was overwhelming.

House stepped carefully and shook his head. Sliding over in a pile of Chinese left-overs was not his idea of fun. Neither was exploring the revolting back alleyways of Princeton after midnight on a Friday night.

Just as House's legendarily short patience was about to snap, he spied a lime-green neon sign to one side of the alley.

"Here we go." Jen reached for the door and held it open for him.

House stepped inside and after taking a look around, he had to admit he was impressed. It was dark and dingy and just the right side of dirty. A jazz trio was on a small stage in the near corner, in the middle of an earnest improvisation. There were a couple of rows of seats turned to the stage and behind them some tables. A well-stocked, if small, bar was crowded into the far back of the room.

"Cool," House said. "Wanna drink?"

One of the patrons sitting in a chair near the stage turned to them with an evil eye.

"Shhhh!"

Jen took House's arm and headed them to a table at the far end of the room near the bar. Once they were seated she leant in close to whisper to him.

"It's a great bar, but they're pretty serious about the music. You're allowed to talk at the tables, but near the stage they insist on you being quiet. It's a bit pretentious, but then I also think it's kind of cool that they respect the musicians so much."

House snorted derisively. Music was precious, yes, but not in _that_ way.

"It's my turn to get drinks," Jen offered. "What do you want?"

"No, I'll go." House started to rise. He wanted whisky, but he wanted a decent single-malt. If he asked her to get it, she'd buy some awful, cheap blend.

"It's okay. Whisky right?"

"Yeah, but…"

She looked directly at him for the first time that night. Their eyes met and held for just a moment too long.

"Trust me," she said.

House sat back down, trying to analyse the feeling that had shot through him at her look. He watched as she moved over to the bar. The woman worked with toddlers. She must have a million-and-one trained looks to wheedle kids into doing her bidding, and of course some of them had to work on adults too.

Mystery solved, House turned back to the music. It was an excruciatingly long impro and he wasn't sad when they hit a final chord.

Jen returned from the bar, smiling again, but not quite meeting his eyes in the way she had been for most of the night.

"Talisker okay?"

"More than okay. Thanks." House raised the glass and inhaled the smoky fragrance before taking a sip. So she'd been worth trusting on that decision at least. He gave her another warm smile and again enjoyed the blush that rose to her cheeks. He decided that it might just be worth seeing if he could make the night finish up in bed with her.

"So what do you do?" Jen asked.

"I'm a doctor."

"Really?" She pushed up her sleeve. "I've got this mole on my arm…"

House gave her his best withering, disdainful look and Jen visibly shrank from him.

"Ah, it was meant to be a joke," she said. "I don't really have…" Jen wished that the ground could swallow her up right there. She didn't know him, of course, so it was entirely possible just to stand up and walk out. She'd never have to see him again and be reminded of this…

House gave her a small grin. He knew she'd meant it as a joke, but couldn't help teasing her back.

"Funny," he said.

"Well, obviously not." Jen said. House could pick up a trace of frustration in her voice, she was angry with herself for the misstep.

"Let me look," he said, putting a hand on her exposed wrist and pulling it closer to him.

"No, I don't actually have…oh!"

Jen started trying to pull her arm back from him. She stopped with a gasp as House lightly ran a finger down the inside of her arm, stroking from her inner elbow to her wrist. He traced the blue veins on her wrist for a moment, with an intense look of concentration.

"Looks fine to me," he said, looking back up at her, a teasing note in his voice. He watched as her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and felt her pulse jumping beneath his fingertips.

House couldn't help an intense sense of satisfaction that just a second ago he'd had her cowering from him in embarrassment and now she was melting under his fingertips. _Oh, you are lots of fun to play with_, he thought. It reminded him of the early days of his friendship with Wilson, before Wilson had learned to predict House's ploys, before his responses had become dulled by cynicism.

The thought pulled him up. Just like Wilson? Well, wasn't that the whole point of tonight's little exercise? Wilson had found a female House. Had he actually found a female Wilson?

House was shaken from his thoughts by the realisation that Jen had met his eyes again. Once more he was pulled into their warm honey-brown depths, wondering which course in early childhood education taught this particular look, one that made him want to own up to anything, everything. _Yes, miss, I did draw on the wall with the red crayon. I've been a very naughty boy_.

He watched as her tongue darted out again over her lower lip. Without thinking further he leant in, raising one hand to her jaw, pressing his lips lightly against hers. He pulled back just slightly and watched as her eyes fluttered closed. Leaning in again, he caught her bottom lip between his, pulling gently. He couldn't miss the soft sigh that she breathed into his mouth or the unexpected arousal he felt in response. He ran the tip of his tongue over her lip, just had she had done seconds earlier, then pulled her closer, intending to explore her mouth.

Jen's brain had closed down when started stroking her arm. It was just as if someone in a shop had flipped a sign, _back in five minutes_. Gone. And then he'd started kissing her, and _oh God but it was good_.

But then a very loud, gremlin voice in her head piped up. It reminded her that she was overweight, that men didn't pick up girls like her in bars, that she didn't kiss strangers. That – not including Timmy Watson in grade school – she'd only kissed three men in her entire life. Well, four now.

As she felt his tongue moving into her mouth, Jen pulled her head back and put a hand up to his chest, pushing him away. She saw the confusion in his eyes and looked away.

"Sorry. That was really nice." She could hear the breathiness in her own voice.

"Yeah, I thought so," he said, still looking at her, puzzled.

"It's just that…" she looked at him and decided to risk the truth. "I'm not a very good kisser."

_What? _

"Well, for what it's worth, I thought you were doing okay."

Jen let out a little laugh. "Thanks. It's just…well…my last boyfriend didn't like, ah, tongue kissing, so I haven't really had any practice.

"Recently," she added, thinking the truth - in the last thirteen years – was far too pathetic to admit.

House frowned at her, wondering how anyone could not like kissing. It was something he particularly enjoyed and despite the _Pretty Woman_ myths, plenty of hookers let him kiss them. It was one of the things he missed most about not being in a regular relationship.

He put both hands to her face, pulling her back closer to him again. He bent his head to bring his eyes in line with hers.

"Lucky for you, I happen to be an _excellent_ kisser. Won medals in high school and everything."

Jen laughed nervously.

"It's like dancing. As long as the guy can lead, all you have to do is follow."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

He leant against her again and Jen discovered he was right. Somewhere in the back of her mind – the tiniest corner that wasn't totally occupied by his lips and tongue and taste and the rough stubble scraping her chin – Jen took out the mental voodoo doll of her ex-boyfriend, Matt, she kept for just this reason. She stabbed a large, imaginary, pearl-headed pin right into the doll's chest. _That's for never kissing me properly._

Neither of them noticed as a new group of musicians took the stage, a guitarist and a vocalist, who began a gentle love song.

Eventually the need for a few deep breaths cause House to pull away, sitting back and taking one hand from her face to collect his drink and take a long sip.

He looked back at Jen and she hadn't moved, her eyes still closed, lips parted, her mouth red, wet and swollen. He'd tangled his hand in her hair, unable to pull it loose from the knot at her nape, and messy tendrils now hung around her face. She looked so sexy he became uncomfortably aware of his own response to her and shifted a bit in the chair.

Whatever happened tonight, whether he managed the legendary one-night stand or not, House realised that at least he could feel a sense of community pride. He was doing his best to make sure that every woman had at least one knee-melting kiss in their life. He had a feeling he'd just delivered that to Jen. He took another swallow of his drink and then with a smile and shrug leant back into her.

_Someone's gotta do it…_

Jen couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this. Hell, she couldn't remember if she'd _ever_ felt like this. He mind was fuzzy, contracted to sensations only.

She could feel his smooth hands cupping her cheeks, one of them moving to roam over her ear and through her hair. She wished she'd followed her sister's advice and let her hair out, so she could feel his fingers running through it. His other hand moved lower, stroking her neck, just inside the neckline of her cardigan and along her collarbone. After a moment it moved lower and cupped her breast, fingertips searching for a nipple through the knit fabric.

It wasn't until she felt more than heard him groan into her mouth as he pinched her pert nipple between his long fingers that some sense began to return.

The facts came slowly. She was in a bar. A public place. Sure it was dark, but people could see. And from the sounds of things, he was obviously turned on. (A little voice in her yelled out _yey! you did that!_ but she shushed it.) He'd want to have sex. That was what people did these days, according to Sarah. Okay, so the kissing had turned out relatively well. But Jen was so out of practice with sex there was no way she felt comfortable enough just to jump right in. With a perfect stranger.

Reluctantly, she pulled away, straightening her top and glancing around to see if anyone was watching. No one was.

House sat back when Jen pulled away, grateful that she had. He was so close to pulling her under the table and pushing that skirt up… _No_, he stopped himself, _best not let that train of thought go any further_. He swallowed the remains of his drink.

Jen picked up her wine and drank it all in one go. She grabbed her purse and turned to him.

"I've had a great time Greg," she said, nervously.

House couldn't help smiling at her nerves, such a contrast to her wanton mouth and flushed face.

"I think I'd better go now."

"O-k-ay," House said hesitating, wondering how to delay her, whether to ask for her phone number, and how on earth he could walk out of there with the raging hard-on in his jeans.

Jen saw the confusion on his face and realised there was nothing she could do about it. She wasn't about to turn around and say _I'm leaving because I really want to have sex with you and it scares the crap out of me_.

"Bye," she squeaked, turning and almost running from the bar.

House could do nothing but watch as the door closed behind her.

"Wait, Cinders, I think you dropped a slipper," he muttered sarcastically after her.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **If anyone is also reading my other current fic you'll know that in that story I invented a sofa in House's office. It's come in handy here too - I think he should just go buy himself one! Thanks for those reviews - keep 'em coming!

Also, just advance notice, I think eventually this fic is going to have to change rating.

* * *

--

The plastic chairs in the clinic waiting area were hard and uncomfortable after ten minutes, let alone four hours.

Jen had only been asleep for a couple of hours when she was woken by the noise of Sarah's friends bringing her home. Sarah was obviously very sick but didn't have any insurance, so Jen had brought her into the clinic as soon as it opened. There'd been quite a queue and it had taken over an hour before Sarah had been ushered into an examination room. Since then, Jen had been just been waiting.

She called out to a passing nurse, asking for the tenth time for an update.

"We're really busy this morning. The doctor will be out to see you soon," she said in a rush, hurrying off to something.

Jen tried to say she wasn't waiting to see a doctor, but the nurse had passed before she even got a word out. Jen huffed and sat back, trying hard to wait patiently. She was starting to get really worried.

--

House was never impressed to be called in to the hospital early. Particularly not on a Saturday. Even more particularly not for weekend clinic duty. And _especially_ not when he'd had hardly any sleep. He'd gone home after Jen made her dash from the bar and watched TV because he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. Their kisses, her soft skin, the weight of her full breast in his hand kept playing over in his head. He'd ended up going to bed and taking matters into his own hands, feeling like a frustrated teenager whose girlfriend wouldn't go past first base.

"Cuddy!" he called, walking into the clinic and shrugging off his coat, laying it over the hands of a surprised passing nurse. "I hear we have an outbreak of Ebola. Have you called the CDC yet?" His loud voice carried through the busy waiting room causing a few people to cast worrying eyes in his direction. But no one started panicking and House was vaguely disappointed.

Cuddy approached him, palms out, obviously trying to calm him.

"I appreciate you coming in on Saturday, House, but I've called in every doctor who's available; we've got a situation."

"Obviously. I've been telling you for ages that cancer is contagious." He eyed the waiting room, but again, there was no reaction.

Cuddy shushed him and pulled him over toward the nurses station, away from the crowded waiting area.

"Some asshole really wanted to get laid last night. We've already had at least twenty cases of GHB poisoning and more keep coming through the door. And that's on top of our usual Saturday cases. They all need to be tested, rehydrated and – if necessary – rape kits done and counselling arranged."

"You don't need me Cuddy, you know I'm crap at that stuff."

"Don't worry, I won't be sending any of them your way. I don't need to you to do anything more than handle the usual walk-ins, so other clinic staff can deal with these patients. Oh, and they're taking up most of the examination rooms, so we've set up some temporary curtained areas for the non-sensitive cases." Cuddy sighed. "Can you at least please _try_ to keep your voice down?"

"Ooh, this is going to be fun!" House said, his mocking tone clearly conveying exactly how much fun he _didn't _think it would be.

--

Jen looked around the waiting room again and this time saw Greg, standing conversing with another doctor. Her stomach dropped. Of course, this was just her luck; this would _have_ to be the hospital he worked at.

She'd convinced herself that she would never see him again, and now he was right over there. In some ways it felt as if the hours since she last saw him had never happened. She was breathless and tingling just as she had been when she pulled out of his embrace.

And overwhelmingly embarrassed at the way she'd run out on him.

_He must think I'm…_

Jen couldn't finish the thought – she couldn't even imagine what he made of her. And the fact that at any minute he could turn around and see her was twisting her stomach in knots.

She started to look around to see if there was an escape route other than the main doors near where he was standing, but then the logical part of her brain kicked in, asserting its authority over her panic.

Sarah.

Sarah was her first priority. Even though the last thing in the world she felt like doing was talking to him again, she needed to find out how her sister was doing. Sarah was a pain and an airhead and completely annoying, but Jen loved her fiercely. And even though Jen was the older sibling it had been Sarah who'd been looking after her for the past year or so. It was her sister who'd offered her spare bedroom when Jen had finally split with Matt. It was Sarah who'd bought her ice cream and listened to her cry.

Screwing up every bit of courage she could muster, Jen rose on shaky feet and headed over to the two doctors.

"Um, excuse me?"

"Just go back to your seat and you'll be seen shortly," Cuddy replied automatically, not even looking away from her conversation with House.

"So can you stay for at least four hours?" Cuddy asked House.

House was about to reply, but stopped and turned as the person who'd tried to interrupt laid a gentle hand on his forearm.

He froze when he saw it was Jen.

The first thing that hit him was how different she looked. Wearing jeans and a worn, tight t-shirt, her curvy body hit him between the eyes. Her wavy blonde hair flowed to just below her shoulders and her skin looked just as velvety as it had felt last night. She'd obviously not slept well and the skin on her chin and around her mouth was reddened slightly. He couldn't help one side of his mouth dragging up at that.

Jen shivered as he looked at her. She swore he could see straight through her and knew that he was making her stomach convulse. His mouth curved up in a mocking smile and she was convinced he somehow knew what she'd done last night. Knew that at home, in bed, after lying awake for hours she'd finally crept her hands into her underpants, giving herself sweet relief, all the while wishing it was his hands on her.

"Well, if it isn't Cinderella," House said, finally.

Jen was confused for a moment, but then decided to leave it – she needed to focus on her sister.

"Sarah – my sister – I brought her in about four hours ago – and I haven't heard anything about how she's doing. Could you find out? Please? I'm really worried."

"Was she vomiting? Dizzy?" House asked.

Jen nodded.

He exchanged a grim look with Cuddy. He didn't want to get involved if her sister had been drugged and raped. He'd bargain with Cuddy and get her to find out what had happened and do the dealing with Jen in exchange for more clinic time. Even if it cost him another two hours of his Saturday.

"Go, sit," he directed Jen. "I'll see what I can find out. What's the last name?"

The look of relief on Jen's face immediately made him feel guilty for his thoughts of handballing her. It didn't change his mind, though.

"Edwards."

Jen made her way back to the waiting room as House turned back to Cuddy.

"Friend of yours?" Cuddy asked suspiciously.

"One of many," House answered curtly. "Now, do we know if Sarah Edwards was one of our lucky jackpot winners last night?"

Cuddy reached over to the stack of files on the counter and flicked through them.

"Sarah Edwards. Positive for GHB, but no rape. Her friends took her home when she started acting strangely," Cuddy read. "She's probably just still being rehydrated. Will be a couple more hours yet until we're sure the drug has cleared her system enough to let her go."

"Right." House was relieved. That was easy news to deliver, well within his capacity.

Without waiting to discuss anything further with Cuddy, he made his way over to where Jen was perched, and sat heavily into the chair next to her.

"She's fine. Someone gave her GHB – you know, the date-rape drug. But she's fine, her friends got her home before anything else happened. Once she's had some fluids and a rest, the drug will be out of her system and she'll be right as rain."

Jen was shocked by the news, but relieved that Sarah would be okay.

"God, I thought that kind of thing only happened on TV," she said.

"Nup. Happens all the time. Got to be careful of those cocktails. And men in bars trying to buy you drinks," he added, giving her a sideways look.

"Except for you I suppose?" Jen replied.

"Except for me," he agreed.

"House!" Cuddy marched over and stood in front of him. "You're needed over there. Waiting times are already over an hour and we can't wait for you to chit chat."

She stormed off.

"_Can't wait for you to chit chat_," House mimicked childishly.

"That's not a very nice way to talk to your boss," Jen said.

"Well, she's used to it."

"Oh." Jen realised she'd put her foot in it. Yet again. She thought he was the boss.

House took in her expression.

"Oh wait, you though I was…and she was…" he grinned. "Priceless."

Jen was suddenly overcome again by the awkwardness of the situation between them. She hadn't expected to see him again, and now he'd helped her out. Her panic about what to say and how to act returned.

"Well, thanks, I guess. Sounds like you better get to work…" she said, fidgeting with her purse.

House looked at her, realising how tired and worried she was. He couldn't help but feel sorry for her and at the fact she was going to have to spend at least another couple of hours on the hellish plastic chairs of the waiting room. Suddenly he had a thought.

"You didn't get much sleep last night," he said and suppressed a grin at her blush. Maybe she'd had much the same night as he'd had? He wondered.

"Why don't you go lie down on the sofa in my office while you wait for your sister? She's going to be another couple of hours at least, so you might as well get some rest."

Jen was surprised and moved by his offer. But she didn't know whether she should accept. Logic told her she should be distancing herself from this man that had kissed her until her knees melted – that is until she'd made a complete fool out of herself by running away from him. But her exhaustion and the kindness in his eyes won out.

"That would be so nice of you. I'm beat."

"Come on."

House was back in the clinic about twenty minutes later, Cuddy thankfully not seeming to have noticed his disappearance. He'd stolen a cotton blanket from the clinic and shown Jen up to his office, unlocking the door and showing her to the sofa. He then left, promising to call her cell phone once her sister was ready to go home. He was proud of himself for his small act of charity and also for not pushing her down on the sofa and taking up where they'd left off last night. After copping a look at her breasts in that t-shirt, he still really, really wanted to do that.

Instead, he found his way into the temporary curtained exam area, calling forward his first patient, praying it wasn't an STD.

* * *

**--**

House wondered if he'd entered an alternate universe since going to sleep last night. This was his second, unpremeditated, totally altruistic gesture of the day. Well, maybe not _totally_ altruistic, he admitted, as he glanced over at Jen's tight t-shirt for about the tenth time in the last five minutes.

Sarah Edwards was slumped in the backseat of his car, half asleep from the drugs still working their way out of her system. Jen was in the passenger seat, thanking him profusely for the ride home, still annoyingly fidgeting with her purse strap and babbling away, trying too hard to explain herself. They'd arrived at the clinic in a cab, Jen said, because she didn't have a car and she couldn't find Sarah's keys.

When Sarah had been discharged about the same time as House had knocked off – having got through more clinic patients in three hours than most other doctors saw in a day – he'd called Jen to let her know. But then on his way home he'd seen the two girls out the front of the hospital in the rain, trying vainly to hail a cab. With a sigh for his long-suffering kindness and vague calculations about just _how_ grateful Jen might be, he'd pulled the car up and offered them a lift. Just as well he hadn't brought the bike, he considered.

When they arrived at the girls' apartment, he not-very-helpfully helped Jen get Sarah out of the car and into their place. He hung around in the living room while Jen led Sarah up a corridor and into a bedroom.

"Might want to give her a bucket," he called out cheerfully.

Jen muffled thanks over her shoulder and an instruction to make himself at home.

House looked around. It was a typical woman's house, lots of stuff everywhere. A white sofa – who on earth had a _white_ sofa, he thought – with far too many throw pillows and a shelf with antique cups and saucers displayed on it. But there were interesting prints on the walls: Chagall, Picasso, Matisse.

There were also lots of boxes lying around the place, as if they hadn't quite finished moving in. House walked over and started flicking through one that had stacks of frames in it. On the top were a couple of studio family portraits; mom, dad, and the two daughters, all smiles and loving looks. House felt both contemptuous and a little jealous.

The next frame was a certificate which at first glance House assumed was some quaint mock-up of a qualification from some crack-pot childhood education institution that had given Jen her kindergarten teaching certification. In House's mind it was like the Ponds Institute giving certificates to beauty therapists.

He saw "Jennifer Edwards" written in script and leant in closer. He let out a low whistle in surprise to discover it was an undergraduate degree from Yale and nodded his head, impressed.

He flicked over and actually did a double-take at the masters degree certificate from Oxford, England.

The quick look he had at the next certificate almost made him choke, but just then Jen re-entered the lounge.

"Would you like a coffee? I mean, it's the least I can do…" She was embarrassed by his kindness, and as nervous as hell about him being in her house, but hadn't felt able to refuse his offer of a lift when she'd seen how tired and sick Sarah was feeling.

She was also undeniably aware that he was taking up a lot of space in her lounge room. In fact, it felt a little like he was taking up all the oxygen too…

"You have a PhD?" House demanded.

Jen took a look at the box he was standing next to. It contained all the stuff that used to hang on her study wall at Matt's place. Well, back then it had been hers and Matt's place, but she couldn't think of it that way any more.

"Yes," she said simply.

"And you teach kindergarten?" House asked, amazed.

Jen was confused by his question. Her puzzlement showed on her face and momentarily distracted her from her panic.

"No. What made you think I taught kindergarten?" she asked.

Then House realised she'd never said she was a kindergarten teacher. That had just been Wilson's guess and when she said she worked with children, House had made the assumption that Wilson had been right. He was cross with himself; he didn't normally make mistaken assumptions like that.

"You work with children," he said, not admitting that he'd been wrong.

"Yes."

"So what is your PhD in?"

"Actually it's in philosophy."

"_Philosophy_." House's voice had a _yeah, right_ tone to it.

Jen didn't miss his tone. It wasn't the first time she'd had to defend her qualifications.

"Yes, philosophy. My thesis was on the influence of language on meaning and thought. Basically the impact that the vocabulary we use has on our thoughts and creativity." She could see House was still looking at her doubtfully. "I compared the theories of Wittgenstein with more modern cultural references like George Orwell's _1984_. You know, _newspeak_."

House nodded. He was slightly ashamed to admit that his impression of Jen had just gone up. He hadn't realised he was that much of a snob. But knowing she was educated made her a little more in his eyes than just a potential conquest.

"Coffee?" Jen asked again. She could see that knowing about her education had changed his impression of her. Generally most men were scared of it. Scared that she might somehow outshine them, even if they were fellow academics. She didn't get that sense from him.

She turned away from him and moved into the kitchen, putting on water to boil and pulling coffee grounds from the cupboard.

House followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the tiny table in the corner without waiting to be asked.

"So you teach philosophy to children," he said, mockingly.

"Yes. I find that eight-year olds are very interested in Nietzsche's concept of eternal return," she replied cuttingly, surprised at her own sassiness. But when the topic was her work she felt more confident, more at ease with herself.

House grinned at her.

Jen blushed and looked away, wondering if she'd ever be able to meet that smile without feeling her knees go weak. She busied herself with coffee preparations, making it European style with a coffee pot on the stove.

"I hope you like your coffee strong," she said.

House thought about making a joke about liking his coffee like he liked his women, but decided it would be too clichéd.

"So, seriously, what do you do?" he asked.

Jen pulled small espresso cups from a cupboard and put them onto a tray.

"Well, you'd be surprised, but a PhD in philosophy doesn't exactly qualify you for much," she explained with a rueful smile at the joke. "Mostly they expect you to become a lecturer. But by the time I finished, I was over academia."

She didn't bother to explain that her reluctance to take up a lecturer's position had been one of the contributing factors to her break up with Matt. She'd met him at college and they had spent the next thirteen years more or less still at college. They'd even moved to London together where they had both completed masters degrees. Then they'd returned home to do PhDs, hers in philosophy, his in English literature. It was all part of Matt's plan for them, to end up academics at an Ivy League institution, working side-by-side, perhaps even authoring a few articles together. Sometimes Jen had been so trapped by her life with Matt she didn't know where his life finished and hers began. In contrast to the wishes of romance novelists, it wasn't a pleasant feeling.

"I used my knowledge of linguistics to get a job helping people who need speech therapy." Jen picked up the tray with the brewed coffee and moved over the table, setting down the tray and taking a seat. She reached over to pour them both cups from the coffee pot.

"I'm not a speech therapist," she quickly added, remembering that he was a doctor and would know what that speciality entailed. "I just help people with language difficulties. Sometimes with talking, sometimes reading, sometimes writing. Whatever needs they have. I'm kind of like a coach."

"So you work with disabled kids," House said. Silently he added, _God, could Wilson have picked a more Wilson-like chick for me even if he'd tried? _

"Yeah, often they're disabled. Other times they've been in accidents." She shivered. "Sometimes it's worse than that. There's a twelve-year-old boy I'm working with now who was beaten so badly by his father that he was brain damaged. He managed to read a full sentence aloud this week." She smiled proudly at the memory.

House looked down at his coffee. He picked up the cup and downed a mouthful of the steaming, bitter drink.

"Good coffee," he said.

"Glad you like it. And glad you like it black. Sarah and I say 'creaming's cheating'," she giggled.

House gave her a funny look.

"How's your sister?" he asked.

"She pretty much fell asleep as soon as I got her into bed. I think she'll be out for a while."

Jen took a sip of her coffee and put it down on the table. Just as she looked up, about to say more about her work, she saw House lean in closer to her.

"So she'll be asleep for a while then," he said with a flirty tone. His hand reached out and touched her shoulder, running his fingers lightly down her arm.

Jen swallowed hard. She had lost that feeling of helplessness and inadequacy while they were talking about her work, while she was on safe ground. Suddenly she felt all off-balance again. She was instantly conscious of how ragged and tight her t-shirt was – no doubt it was clinging unattractively to the spare tyre round her middle.

"What…what did you have in mind?" she asked nervously, pulling on her t-shirt hem, trying vainly to stretch it out.

He smiled at her, a slow, suggestive smile. Jen didn't know whether to giggle or run away.

"Well, _Doctor Edwards_, I thought we might discuss existentialism," he said, stressing her title. "Like Jean-Paul and Simone would have."

Jen laughed at his joke about the French philosophers and lovers.

She looked into his eyes and knew she wanted more of what she'd had last night. But she wanted it at her own pace. She took a deep breath and decided to be bold.

"Tell you what," she suggested. "I'm not sure whether or not I got that kissing thing just right. Care to give me a little more coaching?"

House raised an eyebrow. He interpreted her comment as a 'no' to sex. Although perhaps, if he played his cards right, it might turn into a 'maybe'. He didn't want to go home frustrated again, but maybe she'd at least let him get to second base. Which wasn't too bad a way to spend a lazy Saturday afternoon…


	4. Chapter 4

"Jen?" Sarah's weak voice called out from down the corridor.

House heard her, but refused to acknowledge the call. He had convinced Jen to move to the sofa and they'd been making out like teenagers. After kissing her for long minutes, he'd moved his mouth to her neck and managed to weave his hand inside her top, running his fingertips around the edges of her lacy bra. He had pushed her into a more horizontal position and was leaning on top of her, his good leg thrust between hers. By her sighs and the way she was rubbing her crotch against his thigh, he didn't think it would be long before clothes were going to be removed. He wondered absently if the condom in his wallet was still in date.

It took Jen's brain a while to process that her name was being called. That it was a female voice saying her name and not a gravely man's voice, half-groaning it into her ear, as it had been a few minutes ago.

"Jen? Are you there? I feel sick…"

Jen processed the information reluctantly and realised that she had to drag her lips away from their current job of exploring the soft skin of his neck just below where his beard stopped.

"Stop, stop." She put her hands against House's chest, pushing him back into the couch cushions. She sighed, realising it was just as well that Sarah had called a halt to things, even if it was unintentional.

The more upright position gave House better access to Jen's top and he reached over to grab the hem, intending to pull it up over her head.

"She'll be fine, she's got a bucket," he said.

Jen frowned at him, surprised at his lack of sympathy. She wondered what sort of doctor he was and whether or not he was any good.

She put her hands over his, pulling them away from her t-shirt.

"I'll be back," she said, rising and heading off down the corridor.

House flopped his head back on the sofa cushions, wondering what the hell he was doing. He hadn't set eyes on any skin other than her face and arms, and he wondered how much effort it was going to take to even get see her bra. This whole making out thing was good in theory, but vastly unsatisfying in practice. He decided that if her t-shirt didn't come off in the next fifteen minutes he was getting out of there.

Jen returned to the living room after sitting with Sarah for a little while.

"She was fine, just a bit disoriented," Jen explained. "She just needed me to talk to her until she could sleep again."

House nodded and patted the sofa next to him enthusiastically.

"Shall we take up where we left off?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or should we move into the bedroom?"

Jen swallowed hard. Going in to tend to Sarah had given her some much-needed thinking time. She didn't know quite why, but being in his presence caused her brain to malfunction in some way. She just couldn't think straight. But there was something a bit unseemly about making out with someone while her sister was sick in the other room. It was lucky that Sarah had called out when she had, because Jen had seriously been about to lose it – lust had silenced her many inner gremlins. Her fingers had itched to reach down and undo his jeans, her breasts had ached to feel his hands on her bare flesh.

"I think it's probably a good idea for you to leave," she said, trying to sound gentle about it. "I really should be focusing on my sister."

"I'm not stopping you from doing that," House insisted. "Whenever she calls out you can go check on her."

Jen looked away, not meeting his eyes. Deep down, she knew she was using Sarah as an excuse.

"No, that wouldn't work."

House sighed in frustration. He could tell that something was going on with Jen, that for some reason she was scared about going beyond kissing. Hell, she'd even been scared of kissing him last night. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know why, but his curiosity couldn't let it go.

"Jen, what is going on here? One minute you're groaning in my ear and your hands are on my ass, the next you're kicking me out. I'm confused." _And frustrated_, he added silently.

She blushed. Had she really had her hands on his ass? It was no wonder he was confused. She had no idea what was going on either.

With a sigh she sat down heavily on the sofa next to him.

"I'm sorry. It's just that…" she turned to him with a pained look in her eyes.

House felt his stomach drop and instantly regretted asking the question. Getting laid wasn't worth having to go through a counselling session first.

"Look, if you're going to tell me you've been raped or abused or something like that, it's better that we just end things here."

"What?" Jen asked sharply. "No, no, nothing like that."

"Good." House sighed in relief.

"No, if something like that had happened, at least I'd have a better reason for my behaviour." She took a deep breath and decided to take a deep dive into honesty.

"I broke up with someone. It was a year ago, but I haven't really been out on the dating scene since then. He was the first guy I slept with – we met at college and we were together for twelve years. So I'm just really nervous, because, I guess, I've only slept with one guy."

"This is the guy who didn't like kissing?" House asked.

"Yep. He didn't really like sex either. Or so he said at the time. Of course, once I caught him sleeping with one of his grad students he told me that he just didn't like sex with me." For the last few years of their relationship, sex had become a special occasion thing – for birthdays and Christmas. Jen had tried to accept it as a natural part of a relationship's progression, but she couldn't deny it had left her unsatisfied.

House looked at her carefully. She was looking away from him, but she didn't seem on the verge of tears or particularly upset. Her voice was calm. She had obviously had time to work through the betrayal. She just seemed embarrassed about the fact that she didn't have much sexual experience. Well, he shrugged to himself, there was one way to fix that.

"Right. So he cheated on you and you broke up," House summarised.

"Yeah, that's about the size of it."

"So why all the angst?" House asked. It seemed pretty simple to him.

"What do you mean?" Jen turned to face him, disbelieving that she'd just told him the most embarrassing information about herself and he was being dismissive.

"I mean, you just have to get back on the horse. So to speak."

"But it's not that easy," Jen protested.

"Dr Edwards, I'm not sure if it's the PhD in philosophy that gives it away, but something tells me you think too much." He gave her a crooked smile. "It actually is that easy. I mean, _I_ am that easy."

Jen couldn't help but laugh.

"So you think I should just have sex?" she asked, amused.

"Lets follow the logic of the ancient philosophers." House adopted a lecturing pose. "You are worried about the fact that you don't have enough sexual experience. Right so far?" He checked in with her.

She nodded.

"The fact that you don't have a lot of sexual experience stops you from actually having more sexual experiences."

Jen nodded again, cringing at hearing her situation relayed back to her in such black and white terms. It did sound ridiculous when he put it that way.

"However, as we know from Aristotle, you can never step into the same river twice." House was bluffing wildly now. He knew a great deal about many things, but he was primarily a scientist and, apart from the basic pop cultural references, knew little about philosophy.

Jen laughed again at his silliness.

"Ergo, to solve problem A, you must overcome problem B. And I just happen to be offering myself to the cause."

"You're prescribing me sex?" Jen asked.

"As long as it is supervised by a suitably qualified doctor, yes."

"And are you qualified?" Jen asked, realising that somehow she'd overcome her embarrassment. She was bantering with him like they were talking about the price of bread or something equally banal.

"I'm board certified," House answered. Jen could see that his words were joking but his tone and his eyes were serious – and more than a bit sleazy. She almost let out a nervous giggle at how predatory he looked.

Before she could reply, Sarah's voice called out to her again.

"Jen, can you get me some water?"

Jen froze, caught in House's gaze. His look made her suddenly aware that they were talking about something much more intimate than bread. She was conscious of her skin, and the tightness of the lace over her nipples, the dampness of her panties from their earlier make-out. She was also conscious of the roll of stomach fat she could feel popping over the waistband of her jeans and that her large breasts weren't as firm as they'd been ten years ago. She called out to her sister without moving her eyes from his.

"I'll be right there."

"So, what will it be?" House asked.

"I…think you're right," Jen said, swallowing hard.

"Of course I'm right," he said smugly. "When you get to know me better, you'll realise that I'm almost always right."

Jen considered her next move. It was true, she did think too much. But it was time to be brave. It would be better if she could just jump in with eyes closed, not giving herself time to think any further, but she didn't think she could manage that with Sarah lying in the room next door, potentially interrupting at any moment.

"Can we…" Jen took a deep breath for courage. "Can we go to your place?"

"What about your sister?" House asked, surprised that Jen would leave her alone.

"I'll call a friend and get them to sit with her. Then I'll come meet you."

He smiled, that knee-melting smile that had butterflies rushing back into Jen's stomach. She had to turn away and busy herself so that she didn't give her brain time to work on an argument that would have her changing her mind.

She grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and handed House a pen and paper on her way back.

"Write down your address."

She picked up her cell phone and called Fiona, one of the girls that had been out the night before and explained the situation and that she had to run errands. Fiona said she'd be over right away.

Jen went into Sarah and gave her the water, explaining that Fiona was coming to sit with her.

When she walked back out into the living room, he wasn't there. There was just a piece of paper lying on the sofa with an address scribbled on it. Jen picked it up, her hands shaking slightly, and wondered what she'd got herself into.

* * *

--

House swirled the whisky in his glass as he discreetly watched Jen sit in her car outside his place. She'd pulled up about ten minutes before and still had yet to get out of the car. At first, she'd flipped the visor and checked herself in the mirror, applying lip gloss and appraising the result. He'd thought it looked fine, but she'd scowled and wiped it off again, reapplying twice until she seemed satisfied.

Then she'd picked up her purse and looked as if she was about to get out. But she'd frozen and sat still for a while. Then she put her purse down, pulled her seatbelt back on and started the ignition.

After hitting the steering with the heel of her hands, she turned off the ignition and picked up her purse again. She checked her lip gloss and hair in the mirror one more time before visibly taking a deep breath and getting out of the car.

House moved away from the window and over to the door, opening it before she had a chance to knock.

"You'd better come in," he said to her. "This isn't going to work."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Okay, another chapter for you, just because you're all lovely and asked for it nicely! This is where things change pace...rating has changed...consider yourselves warned.

* * *

Jen let out a breath and it felt as if her whole body was deflating. He was right. It wasn't going to work, but that didn't make it any less humiliating to have gone to his place for no other reason than to have sex – and to then have him turn her down.

"Come on," House ushered her in the door and Jen mutely obeyed his directions to sit on the sofa, not thinking clearly.

She had showered and changed, agonised over her lingerie selection and then applied her make up carefully. She'd spent ten minutes in the car trying to screw up her courage enough to just knock on his door. But her hands were shaking and she felt nauseous with nerves – the idea of being naked in front of him wasn't the least bit arousing and she was sure that every fibre of her body announced that to him loudly.

"Seeing as you're here, you might as well have a drink." House pushed a glass of whisky into her hands. He felt sorry for her, but there was no way he could have sex with someone who was that conflicted about whether or not she wanted it. Watching her in the car agonising about whether or not to even come in the door had decided him. When he had a woman, he wanted her to be at least excited about the idea – better yet, begging. Jen looked pretty and he could tell she'd made an effort, but the anxiety pouring off her was a definite buzz-kill. He couldn't even tell whether she was disappointed or relieved or embarrassed. He figured it was some insane female cocktail of all three.

Jen took a sip of the amber liquid, still not concentrating on anything other than her own raging embarrassment and – she had to admit – anger with herself for messing up the opportunity he'd presented her. She spluttered as she swallowed the burning liquid, the gasp in her throat pulling her out of her reverie.

"What is this?"

"Whisky."

She pushed the glass back into his hands. "I don't drink whisky."

"Well it's about time you learned. Then at least you'll get something from this visit."

Jen cringed and blushed even harder.

"I'll put some water in it. Apparently the connoisseurs reckon that's okay, but I've always considered it cheating."

He went into the kitchen that Jen could see off the living room and quickly brought back the glass and thrust it into her face. She looked up and met his eyes and for some reason, she felt as if he was daring her; she could see a challenge sparkling in his blue depths. Well, she thought, she'd failed the first challenge rather spectacularly, maybe this one she could just about manage. She grabbed the glass and took a small swallow, bracing herself for the burning heat in her throat. But the water subdued the fire of the whisky and she was able to appreciate the softer subtleties of the drink. She ran her tongue around her mouth and tasted the woody, smoky, toffee flavours it had left behind.

"Hmm," she said hesitantly, not sure what he would be expecting of her, "I think I could appreciate what you see in this."

She saw approval flash in his eyes and he moved away from his somewhat intimating pose standing over her, taking a seat on the sofa.

Jen sipped her drink slowly, listening as he gave what sounded like well-rehearsed speech on the finer points of single-malt highland whisky. It gave Jen a conversational starting point and she told him all about a New Year's Eve she spent in Edinburgh, walking the Royal Mile and watching the lone piper on the walls of the castle bring in the new year.

As night closed in, their conversation roamed broadly over their respective travels and he asked her more questions about her studies and her PhD thesis. Jen got more information about his work and an unexpected, several-minute-long diatribe about the idiocy of hospital administrators. When he got passionate about a topic his blue eyes sparkled with humour and his whole body became somehow animated, all part of the message he communicated. She was conscious of a new level of awareness of him – he still had that magnetising gaze that made her tummy go wobbly, but he was starting to capture her mind as well as her body. Jen realised that when she slipped into this easy talking with him, somehow her worries and all those inner demons were silenced. Once she stopped focusing on herself and started to think about him and about their conversation, her nervousness drifted away.

It wasn't until House reached over to refill her glass for the fourth time that Jen realised she was actually feeling quite light-headed.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked, carried away enough with their easy banter to have forgotten her mortification at his rejection when she'd first arrived.

"Why would I want to do that?" he asked, his tone matter-of-fact. "I seem to recall that you actually came here willingly for the sole purpose of going to bed with me. I doubt I needed to play the 'drunken lay' card."

Jen wasn't sure how to balance the conflicting feelings of shame and anger battling for supremacy at his words. She stood quickly and grabbed her purse, searching for her car keys.

"I'm going home."

"No you're not."

"Yes, I am." Jen finally pulled the keys from her purse and took a step toward the door, surprised when her foot didn't quite go where she wanted it to. She looked down, confused.

House leant up from his lounging position on the sofa and easily swiped the keys from her hand.

"You're drunk."

"I am _not_ drunk," Jen protested. But she decided to sit down again until she worked out what was going on with her feet. She frowned. _Maybe she was a little bit drunk?_

"Hey, I'm feeling the buzz here and I'm twice your size. You're not driving home."

"I'll get a cab," she challenged.

"You do that." He shrugged.

Jen got up again and decided she really should go to the bathroom before she went out into the cold to find a cab. She weaved up the corridor, still quite shocked by how unsteady she was on her feet. She'd been so carried away by their conversation she'd actually managed to get drunk without even noticing.

Closing the door loudly, Jen frowned at herself in the mirror. Why did this man manage to intimidate, infuriate and inflame her all at the same time? It was a very good idea to leave now and put this whole sorry mess behind her. Next time Sarah tried to talk her into going to a bar she would _most definitely_ be staying at home on the sofa with a DVD and a glass of wine. _Or maybe a whisky_, she thought as she concentrated on the smoky flavours still lingering in her mouth.

Shaking her head at herself, she got sorted to leave, taking way too long to pee and wash her hands because her body refused to obey her commands exactly. Turning to leave she saw that another door led through to his bedroom, a dark room with heavy furniture and a big, comfortable-looking bed that had been made by pulling the comforter into place and that was all.

Looking at the bed, Jen was suddenly overcome by tiredness. She'd had barely any sleep the night before, and the nap she'd had on House's office sofa that morning felt like it had been years ago. And the rest of the day hadn't exactly turned out to be restful. _Maybe she could just lie down for a minute and then get a cab when she felt better?_ Yes, that sounded like a good idea.

* * *

--

House watched Jen stagger her way to the bathroom. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sat around at home and had an interesting, challenging conversation with anyone other than Wilson. It made him think, if the sex thing wasn't such an issue, Jen could be half-way decent company.

When she didn't emerge from the bathroom for a while, House sighed, thinking she'd either passed out or was throwing up. Neither of which he wanted to deal with. He rose and limped up the corridor. He was about to knock on the bathroom door when he glanced into his bedroom and caught sight of her lying on the bed, fully dressed, her purse dumped unceremoniously next to her.

"Hey," he complained loudly, walking into the bedroom and over to her. "You can't sleep here."

"Why not?" Jen answered sleepily.

"Because it's my bed."

"I'll just have a little rest and then I'll go home. Okay?" She looked up at him with one eye squinted open and smiled crookedly.

House sighed. He had a feeling, a little tickle at the back of his brain, that this woman could be bad for his peace of mind. Very bad. He didn't like the idea of pouring her into a cab, who knew if she'd get home safely? And he was certainly in no condition to drive her himself. He sighed again.

"Well then, get undressed and get under the covers. I don't want your hoof prints all over my sheets. I'll get you a glass of water."

He turned and went back to the kitchen to give her privacy, mumbling about the inconvenience and the fact that she'd probably already got dirt on his bed by getting on it with her shoes on.

When he returned to the bedroom she was tucked under the covers up to her chin with her eyes closed. He put the water next to her, stripped to his boxers and climbed into bed. The gentle brain fuzz from the alcohol and the soothing sound of someone else's breathing made him fall asleep almost instantly.

* * *

--

Jen woke up, her mouth dry from the whisky. Glad to find a glass of water next to her on the nightstand, she gratefully took a few large gulps and then lay back. Once that immediate problem was fixed she became more aware of her surroundings and the pieces fell into place. It was sometime in the middle of the night, she was in bed with Greg, at his place, and they had absolutely not had sex. Not even kissed. How pathetic was she that she could even manage to be in bed with a guy and still not get laid?

Her mind whirled with images of being in bed with Matt and of the times when they'd actually had good sex. It had happened occasionally. Enough that she knew to miss it.

Next to her, House groaned quietly in his sleep and shifted in bed. Jen looked over at him and smiled ruefully. So close and yet so far…

Although the light in the room was dim she could see that in sleep his face lost its hard edges, and without those confusing and provoking blue eyes gazing back at her, she could see glimpses of the boy and the young man that he once had been. She could also see his bare shoulders – lean, but rounded and corded with muscle, and she couldn't resist reaching over and stroking a fingertip along his collarbone.

When she saw that her light touch hadn't disturbed him, she took the opportunity to hook her finger under the sheet and lower it slightly, exposing more of his chest to her view. She figured he must have found some way around his leg issue to get a workout, because although he wasn't going to win any body building competitions, he was nicely toned and, she thought, very easy on the eye.

Jen couldn't help running her hand along his breastbone and then snaking across one side of his chest, threading her fingers through the light dusting of salt-and-pepper hair she found there. She pressed her fingers into him gently and felt the delicious combination of firm muscle and satiny skin that sent a little shiver back through her arm and into her body.

She wondered if there was something unseemly about feeling him up when he was asleep. She nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment, pausing and wondering if she should continue. But the fact that he was sleeping made her feel bold, gave her courage – she didn't have to listen to his quips or see any expression of disappointment on his face from her inexperienced touches.

She'd forgotten how much she loved men's bodies, all their angles and curves; the wonderful surprise of soft skin like a hidden secret. And now she had one at her disposal, lying right there. The night before, Jen had cracked just one eye open to watch him strip to navy-blue cotton boxers when he got into bed, and what she really wanted to see was the curve of his hipbone and the sweep of hair leading down from his navel. That was definitely her favourite bit. A dart of desire shot through her just imagining it.

She decided she didn't think he'd mind if she just looked. And maybe touched. Just a little.

Carefully she lifted the sheet and comforter away from him and folded it back over his legs. She waited a moment, to see if it would wake him, but he didn't move. Softly, she stroked a hand over his hip, skating down his leg and running it back up the inside of his thigh. She couldn't help a smile of delight when she saw the twitch inside his boxers. Of course, she rationalised, he was asleep and it was just a physiological response – he wasn't really aroused by her – but still it was pleasing.

Despite knowing that she really should return the bedcovers to their appointed place and try to get some more sleep, Jen leant over and pressed her mouth to his chest, her tongue exploring his nipple and delighting in the salty, musky taste of him. She was so absorbed by her own need to touch and taste all of him that she lost her hesitancy. She didn't have to worry about whether or not what she did turned _him_ on, because it was all about pleasing herself.

Unable to resist touching him intimately, her hand caressed him over the thin fabric of his shorts and her kisses moved lower, over his chest and stomach. She spent quite a while exploring the skin just inside his hip, her kisses interspersed with little nips when the urge to almost eat him alive became too strong.

Jen paused and took a deep breath. She was suddenly certain what she wanted, emboldened by the darkness; made brave by his passivity. She knew where she was going, what she was going to do next, and she was teasing herself by drawing out her anticipation.

Finally she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and lifted them over his now evident arousal. The shadow of her hair as she let it brush over him was intoxicating and she took him into her mouth, not worrying about rhythm or technique, just tasting and teasing.

In the back of her mind, Jen knew he was unlikely to stay asleep for long once her lips were around him, but it still took a while for her to register that his hands had tangled gently through her hair and that he was ever so slightly thrusting up into her mouth. Still she ignored him, pretended this was for her, somehow finding a way to disable all those voices in her head that wanted to tear her down. She pictured a group of little cartoon gremlins stuck behind a barricade, shouting and waving their ugly little fists in anger at not being heard. The image made her chuckle and the vibration in her throat provoked a moan that brought Jen's awareness sharply back to where she was and what she was doing. She lifted up for a moment, not daring to look at his face, and shook her head. He got her implied message and took his hands away, letting her set the pace.

Jen went back to her lazy exploration of him, touching, licking, kissing, sucking. There was no hurry and she took her time tasting every part of him, even when she felt him tense under her and knew he wanted more. She noted that he kept his hands next to his hips – clenched into fists, yes, but resisting the temptation to force her to do his bidding. That little gesture of restraint was enough for Jen to decide she could trust him. He wouldn't hurt her. And after all, he'd said he wanted to help her.

She grabbed one of his hands and lifted it to the nape of her neck and then bent down over him, one hand wrapped around the base of his erection, her mouth taking him in fully. A small groan left her as his hand caressed her face, his fingers running down the side of her throat and his thumb gently tracing her jaw line.

"Jennifer…"

She heard her name as he growled it with a sleepy, gravely voice. He set the pace with gentle pressure on her head and Jen focused on the suddenly powerful feeling of knowing he was at her mercy. Hearing him say her name in that desperately sexy way was better than any compliment she'd ever received. She bent to her task with renewed enthusiasm.

His climax was her reward. She swallowed his liquid heat as the elixir that proved her mastery over him and over herself and the temporary respite from her demons. Jen realised she didn't even really need an orgasm herself, that in some strange way she'd already got what she needed.

She worked her way back up the bed, dragging the comforter with her. She was surprised when House's arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, but he didn't say another word.

Silently, Jen snuggled her body into his and let sleep overtake her.

* * *

--

House woke up because his arm was numb and his leg hurt. Lifting his head slightly to see the clock on the nightstand he saw that it wouldn't be dawn for a couple of hours yet. He lifted Jen's head to pull his arm out from underneath her and rubbed it to restore the circulation. He looked down at the sleeping woman, still amazed that short, shy Jen gave head like a professional. He half wondered if it had been a dream as he got up to stretch out his leg and take a Vicodin.

He still wasn't sure what had brought it on. What magical transformation had happened that he went to bed with a frigid, scared little girl and woke up to find a wanton woman drawing his cock into her hot little mouth?

He was unable to solve the riddle and all thinking about it had done was to give him a hard on from the memory of her skilful lips. Moving back into the bedroom, he paused on Jen's side of the bed to look her over. The t-shirt she'd gone to sleep in had ridden up and he could see the lower curve of one of her breasts just under the seam. It reminded him that he still hadn't seen her naked and those breasts had been teasing him for almost two days now.

He leant over and lifted the hem of her shirt higher, baring both breasts to his sight. Already hard from recalling Jen's midnight performance, he felt himself harden further, and watched as her nipples peaked with the cool night air brushing over them. She was gorgeous, round and full and heavy; he remembered feeling their weight in his hands as they'd kissed on the sofa.

In her sleep, Jen shivered and rolled over, away from House's intensive gaze. She pulled the sheet closer to her chest for warmth and in doing so, bared her butt to him. She was wearing skimpy black panties with a little white lace trim and he thought that he'd never seen anything quite so erotic in his life.

She'd been stealthy in her approach to him, he reflected, touching him while he slept, allowing him to surface only when she was ready for him to participate in their lovemaking. He smiled, suddenly understanding how she had invoked the sensual side of her nature – it was the very fact that he had been asleep that had allowed the wanton goddess to have her way with him.

He could do the same to her – touch her and stroke her in her sleep, waiting until the sensations invariably woke her. But he didn't think so. He wanted to watch her experience every moment of what he was about to do to her.

He walked around to the other side of the bed and lay down facing Jen. He put one arm firmly on her bottom and pulled her in tightly to him. The feel of her slightly chilled naked breasts against his chest was heavenly and he sought her mouth with his.

She was startled, woken suddenly and slightly disoriented, but House didn't give her time to get her bearings. After kissing her roughly, he pushed against her shoulder, laying her back in the bed. He rose his torso over her, lowering his mouth to make love to her breasts; taking a peak into his mouth, he nipped her gently with his teeth and then laved her with his tongue.

"Greg?" Jen didn't know what to make of the sudden passion being laid on her. He didn't give her time to think, assaulting her senses on all sides with his caresses and kisses.

"Jen?" he replied, mockingly. He wound a hand down between her legs and was very satisfied to feel how damp her panties were. Getting him off had obviously given her a thrill too. He pushed down her underwear and dipped his fingers into her slick juices, spreading them over her folds and teasing her with gentle brushes of his fingertips.

"Take that t-shirt off," he growled.

Too stunned to do anything but comply, Jen reached down and pulled the shirt over her head. As soon as it was gone, he bent his head back to her breast, sucking hard on a nipple, pleased that it provoked a sharp gasp of breath from her. After a moment he stopped, concentrating on the movement of his fingers between her legs, increasing his pressure and rhythm.

Jen sighed and couldn't help her legs falling open to allow him access. She watched with lidded eyes as he lifted his head from her breast and gazed down at her flushed body, working his hand on her in a way that was shortly going to be her undoing. Then it suddenly occurred to her that she was naked and he was staring at her. She didn't want him to stop what he was doing to her, but she couldn't have him looking at her like that. She quietly moved her arms over her belly, trying to hide her podgy stomach from his sight.

"What are you doing?" he asked, immediately noting a change in her body, a new tension – and not the good kind.

"I just…" Jen stammered, trying to explain herself. "I don't want you to see…"

House blew out a breath in frustration.

"Look woman between those tits and that ass, my eyes are full. And happy. Let it alone."

He removed his hand from between her legs to pull her arms away from her stomach. Jen groaned at the loss of his touch and cooperated with him if for no other reason than to get his fingers back to work immediately.

"Please…" she pleaded.

"I love it when a woman begs." He really did. "Do it again."

Jen blushed, but complied. "I want you to touch me. Please."

"Here?" House asked, teasing her by stroking the outside of her hip.

Jen shook her head.

"Here?" He ran his hand along the inside of her thigh.

"No," she whispered.

"How about here?"

Jen groaned and arched her back as his fingers penetrated her, his thumb grazing her clit and making her pulse jump.

"Say it," House demanded. "Here?"

"Yes, there," Jen breathed. "Don't stop."

House snorted with satisfaction and buried his head against her neck, gently biting the soft skin under her ear and then kissing it better.

The sound of his breathing in her ear was all that it took to push Jen over the edge and she cried out, her body clenching around his fingers and her breath catching as the orgasm that had been building ever since he'd first kissed her in the bar finally broke.

Like he had when he'd woken her with his kiss, he barely let her catch her breath before he pulled on her arm to flip her onto her stomach, pushing a pillow under her hips. Jen was still feeling pleasurable aftershock contractions in her pelvis when she heard the condom wrapper tearing and then felt him behind her, nudging at her entrance.

She expected him to take her in one forceful thrust but was again moved by his tenderness as he went slowly, letting her body adjust to him. He hadn't forgotten that it had been a while for her and was taking care to make sure she was comfortable. Jen felt a little hitch in her heart that she immediately tried to quash, focussing instead on the unique and wonderful feeling of him filling her, fitting a void that she hadn't, until then, been aware of.

Jen pushed back against him, impaling herself on his full length, already feeling herself rising again on the slope towards orgasm. She waited for him to begin thrusting, but instead he rocked gently back and forward, his hands on her hips, tilting her pelvis up and down slightly as he moved. Jen wondered what he was waiting for when suddenly she felt a jolt of exquisite sensation run through her. She gasped and heard his murmured noise of satisfaction.

Then he began moving, and with the first thrust Jen was instantly back on the brink of another earth-shattering orgasm. It was as if her clitoris had turned inward and with every stroke he brushed against it, raising her pitch but not giving any relief. She felt almost tortured by the sensations, thrashing her head back and forth against the pillow in an effort not to lose her mind.

"So good, so good…" she mumbled, somehow needing to verbalise what was happening to her, just in case he thought she was dying in pain rather than pleasure. Because she had to be dying.

House couldn't remember the last time sex had been this hot and this sweet. She was unbelievably wet and tight and her little moans of pleasure combined with the sight of the creamy globes of her ass in his hands made for a heady mix. He was close and trying to hold off, but it wasn't going to be long.

He pulled her hips up, creating space between her belly and the pillow. Reaching around with one hand he pressed into her centre and was rewarded by the keening sound of her cry as she bucked and her body began to contract. The sensations of her already tight little body squeezing around him further was more than he could bear. With a long, heart-felt groan, he let go, feeling himself empty into her as she milked him dry.

He barely had the energy for it, but somehow he managed to pull out of her, remove and discard the condom and then collapse on the bed next to her. After his breathing had almost come back to normal he turned his head to check on Jen. He couldn't help one side of his mouth curving up into a smile as he saw she hadn't moved and, in fact, looked as if she couldn't. Eyes still closed, hips still raised on the pillow, she could have been comatose if not for the hitching of her chest as she tried to reign in her breath.

"You okay?" he asked, reaching over to shake her shoulder gently, slightly worried by her stillness.

"Oh fuck," she whispered back, still breathless. Her eyes opened and stared into his, an amazed and awed expression. "So _that's_ what sex is."


	6. Chapter 6

Their eyes held for a long moment and House couldn't help grinning at her expression. She smiled back openly and even in the dim light of the pre-dawn he could see the sparkle in her eyes, the simple joy there. She looked good and properly fucked – there was no other description that fit. And his own body was tingling in a way it hadn't done in a long time. _Too long._

At that thought he turned away, looked up at the ceiling and swallowed hard. Tried to recall the last time he'd had sex with someone he hadn't paid; the last time he'd had sex with someone he'd actually succeeded in seducing.

He closed his eyes and felt a familiar twist of bitterness about how his life had unfolded. If the world had been different he might have had a wife. Or at least had sex with a few more women. Hell, he might have even had a kid or two.

That was all behind him now.

As his thoughts began to get fuzzy, House realised he was starting to fall asleep. He understood how the chemicals working in his body were making that happen. But he needed to make sure of something first.

"It's not always like that," he said without moving or opening his eyes, the words sounding gruff even to his ears.

"I know." He heard the quiet surprise in her voice and felt her rearranging herself, returning the pillow to its rightful position and puling the covers over them both. She seemed about to move over toward him to cuddle into his body.

"I just wanted you to know. I've fucked a few women in my life." He heard her draw in a quick breath at the profanity and she lay back into the bed without touching him.

"What do you mean?"

_Hell, what _did_ he mean? _He heard the hurt in her question. Was he trying to tell her that was the best sex he'd had in a long time? Or that it hadn't meant that much to him? He didn't even know.

"I just don't want you holding the next poor sap you get into bed up to these lofty standards, 'cause it won't happen again," he joked weakly. "That's all."

"Oh."

Yeah, that was it. It was no good if she went and got her hopes up, House told himself. He just didn't want her to be disappointed. He wasn't even sure if he could manage a repeat performance himself. It was one of those things – the right pheromones, the right hormones, the right amount of teasing leading up to it. It had been a one-time thing that was unrepeatable.

He fell asleep before he could think much further.

* * *

--

When Jen woke up, there was an unfamiliar weight on her chest and legs. It took a moment before she realised that Greg had rolled over to her in his sleep. His bad leg was thrown over her thighs and his arm was resting just under her breasts. His head lay close to hers and he was snoring gently.

She turned her head to look at him in his sleep, careful not to disturb him. Weak sunlight was struggling to make its presence felt in the dark and gloomy room. She could make out his features much more clearly than she had when she'd perused him the during the night.

In the light of the morning there was something different about him. During the night she'd seen the shadows of the athletic young man he'd once been, a skilful and passionate lover who, in a few small gestures, had shown a gentle side of himself and had taken care of her. Now she saw the creases in his face worn deep from pain, the tiredness about him that seemed evident even when he was asleep. She felt both pity and a little flash fear. Pity for his physical and emotional pain. Fear at how much she thought he could hurt her if she let him.

She didn't know what had provoked his comments after they'd had sex, but they'd left her confused and hurt. Even though she didn't have much sexual experience she certainly had a bit of life experience. She knew that men and women saw sex differently and she didn't expect him to fall in love with her. But he'd seemed to find it necessary to warn her off in some absurd, obtuse way– she knew when he said that kind of sex would never happen again, he was really telling her that this one a one-night only deal. But with his body thrown over hers, it was tempting to read far more into it than it actually meant. The gesture seemed so at odds with his words.

Jen lay still for a while, just soaking in the comforting weight and warmth of his body. He stirred a couple of times, burrowing closer to her, and Jen realised he'd be awake soon, and that their night would be over when that happened. She was trying to work out how she felt about that when his arm moved and his hand started stroking between her legs.

"You're awake," she said accusingly.

"So are you," he said, not moving or opening his eyes. His hand worked her slowly, building the tension almost without her noticing.

"It's morning."

"Really?" he teased, pushing in to dip one finger inside her.

"Yes. I've been up for ages," Jen said, surprised by his light-heartedness and his sexual attention. She'd prepared for an awkward morning-after scene.

"So have I," he replied, pressing his pelvis into her hip and letting her feel his arousal.

"So I see," she replied. His leg over hers kept her immobile, unable to even spread her thighs to give his hand deeper access to her body. He pulled his finger out of her, using her slippery fluids to rub against her quickly and insistently, setting a rhythm against her clit that soon got rid of all the thoughts whirling through Jen's mind; her body simply focused on the sensations he provoked. She gasped as he sped up, keeping a constant, firm pressure and was shocked at how quickly her body responded. Her orgasm, not as intense as the last one, nevertheless had her crying out, a guttural noise of desperation and release, and she gripped his shoulder with her hand, her fingernails digging in to leave small, half-moon prints in his skin.

She took a while to return to earth; his hand rubbing her gently as she came down from the peak; her fingers stroking the solid muscles of his arm.

"I've come more times in the last twelve hours than I have in the last two years," she said lightly once her breath had returned. Jen turned to kiss him, but he rolled away, laying on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. He chuckled.

"Really?"

She could hear that he was pleased with himself. His erection had faded though, and Jen wasn't sure what her next move should be.

"Do you want a turn?" she asked.

"No."

"Oh." Jen wasn't sure what to make of that. She wondered if maybe his leg hurt, but he seemed very sensitive about that, so she didn't want to say anything in case he was offended. They lay quietly for a while. Jen was sure it was time for her to leave but she wasn't quite sure how to do it elegantly. She didn't want him watching her dress, especially now that the room was light.

"I guess you're sober now," he said after a few minutes.

"What? Oh." Jen realised that was his subtle attempt at telling her to get out of his bed and drive herself home. "Yeah, I suppose I am. Where are my keys?"

"On the hall stand."

"Right." He still had his arm over his eyes, so she decided to make a break for it. She quickly rose from the bed, gathered her clothes from the floor and dashed into the bathroom. She dressed hurriedly, suddenly feeling an overwhelming embarrassment about…well…everything. Did she really have his cock in her mouth last night? Had he really held her ass in his hands as he stabbed into her? How had it all happened?

Her cheeks were hot, her stomach was in a knot and her thigh muscles ached and still trembled slightly as if she'd done a step class at the gym. There was also a vaguely pleasurable pain between her legs, almost as if she'd lost her virginity all over again.

Jen paused for a moment, knowing that she could leave through the other door of the bathroom and head straight down the corridor and out the front door – no need to speak to him at all. Something about that didn't feel right, even though the idea had a lot to recommend it.

Sucking up a breath, she opened the bathroom door and walked back into the bedroom. House hadn't moved from his position on the bed.

"Well, Greg, thanks for everything…" Jen groaned inwardly at herself. _"Thanks for everything?" _That's _what you say? You idiot._ She stood, arms hanging by her sides, completely at a loss. What on earth should she say? She thought about just turning around and walking out, but suddenly she had a vision of the night before, when his hands had been tangled in her hair and he'd growled her name aloud, his voice dripping with desire. Just the memory of it sent a spark of warmth to the base of her spine. She'd been good, she was sure of it. He might have been great, but she'd at least been good.

God, she'd love the chance to do it again.

She'd taken a massive risk yesterday, agreeing to come to his place and sleep with him. Not to mention what she'd done to him in the night. What was one more?

"I'm going to leave my number on your desk out in the living room. It would be nice to catch up again," she said quietly.

House gave a non-committal grunting noise, which she figured was his way of trying to indicate that he was almost asleep again. And it just happened to negate the need for him to form words, like "yes", or "no" or even "good bye".

"Right." Jen waited a moment longer, to see if he would say anything, but when he didn't move she turned and headed down the corridor.

She picked up her keys and purse, wrote her name and cell phone number on a piece of paper on his desk and left, glad it was Sunday. She'd probably have to do some grovelling at home – she had, after all, deserted her sick sister, but Jen had a feeling that Sarah would be so pleased about the reason why she'd been abandoned that she'd be forgiven. She'd pick up some breakfast for Sarah, make her apologies, have a shower and then have a nice, long, sleep.

* * *

--

_Monday lunchtime_

Wilson had been talking about a difficult and critical patient he'd been called in to treat on Sunday, and it took until he and House were about half-way through lunch before he remembered Friday night. House was a little surprised at the delay – Wilson was usually much more on the ball about anything that might involve House's sex life.

"Oh! I can't believe I forgot! How did you go with the kindergarten teacher?" Wilson asked suddenly.

House took a large bite of his hoagie without answering. For House, it was just as telltale as if he'd blushed.

"Wh-a-a-t?" Wilson asked, intrigued. "What happened?"

"She was…unexpected," House mumbled through his mouthful.

"What do you mean? Did you take her home?"

"Sort of."

Wilson leaned in closer, lowering his voice.

"So did you get lucky?"

House swallowed his food and gave Wilson a sneer. "I can't believe you just asked me that. _'Got lucky'_. Who says that?"

"Well, whatever you want to call it. Did you?"

House nodded.

"And?" Wilson leant in eagerly.

"And what?"

Wilson sat back in his chair, giving House an appraising look.

"Okay, something's going on. You're normally full of details. What happened?"

House put down his sandwich and leant his elbows on the table. "You want details? She was hot. It was hot. I introduced her to her g-spot which had hitherto been missing in action. She told me she had more orgasms in one night that she'd had for the past two years. And for that she was very grateful: she not only deep throats but swallows. Enough?"

Wilson looked at House distastefully. "Okay, so maybe I didn't want those details."

House shrugged, picked up his food and started eating again. He wished now that he hadn't said no to Jen's offer of another round in the morning, but what he'd wanted at the time was her straddling him. He knew it was unlikely she'd go for that and he hadn't had the energy to cajole her into it. His other choice, lying on top of her, face-to-face, looking into her honey-brown eyes, made him feel nervous for some reason. So it had been easier just to say no.

"So when are you going to see her again?" Wilson asked.

"No plans to."

"You had hot sex with a kindergarten teacher and have no plans to do it again? Why not?"

House had no idea why he had decided not to see Jen again – the sex had been good, their conversation fun and engaging - but something warned him off. Waking up wrapped around her had been a surprise. He hadn't done that with anyone since Stacy. He'd forgotten how comfortable it was – not just the warmth of another body next to his, but it took the pressure off his leg when it was elevated that way. He sometimes slept with his knee on a pillow, but that wasn't half as pleasant. His first reaction had been to hold her tighter, but that had just been instinctual, he'd been still half asleep, so it meant nothing. Nothing other than sexual attraction. And he'd turned it into sex, giving her yet another climax. Kind of a thank you for letting me use you as my pillow. That's all it had been.

He decided to change the subject.

"She's not a kindergarten teacher. She's _Dr_ Jen Edwards – she has a PhD in philosophy."

"_Philosophy_?" Wilson was incredulous.

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"Philosophy," Wilson repeated, his tone clearly still indicating disbelief. "She said she worked with kids."

"Long story, but she now works with disabled kids with language difficulties."

"Wow. Intelligent then, so we got that bit wrong. And you didn't want blonde. But right on all the other scores?"

"Pretty much."

"So was she, like, hideous underneath that cardigan she was wearing or something?"

House thought of Jen's creamy, heavy breasts and felt himself twitch in response like a teenager. He was actually annoyed by it.

"No. Not hideous."

"So we're back to the original question. Why no plans to see her again?"

House rolled his eyes, exasperated by his friend's relentless questioning.

"I don't need the hassle."

"Ri-i-ight. Because your life is so full," Wilson said sarcastically. "Work, getting drunk at home by yourself, work. Yeah, satisfyingly rounded life you've got yourself there buddy. And those intelligent, attractive chicks who not only deep throat but swallow, are _such_ a hassle."

House cringed at hearing his own words thrown back at him.

"Leave it Wilson," he said warningly. Something in his tone must have done the trick, because Wilson glared at him for a while, but then shook his head and went back to his lunch. They returned to talking about Wilson's patient and thoughts of Jen went to the back of House's mind again, where they belonged.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hi all, I feel the need to explain that I began writing this story before the season finale episodes and so in this world Wilson and Amber are still happily playing together. I actually feel a bit sad about that! But Amber is not who this story is about.

* * *

--

_The next weekend_

"Who are you and what have you done with my sister?" Sarah was sitting on the sofa watching MTV and eating straight from a large tub of ice-cream.

It was two am on Saturday morning and Jen was just getting home. She taken her heels off in an attempt to reduce the noise of her walking in at such a late hour and they were hanging from her fingers. But as Sarah was obviously awake, there was no need to tiptoe.

Jen dumped her shoes and purse and sat down on the sofa, grabbed the spoon from her sister's hand and shovelled a large spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

"I know, not like me is it?" she mumbled through her mouthful, glancing down at her watch. "I didn't realise it was so late."

"Where's Fiona?"

"She met someone and went home with him."

"What about you? Did you find _Doctor Lurve_ again?" Sarah made moon eyes at her as she sing-songed the silly name.

"I didn't see him out tonight and he never called, like I said he wouldn't." She winced, regretting how much detail she had shared with Sarah and Fiona after spending the night with Greg.

When she'd arrived home from his place, Sarah and Fiona had been sitting together on the sofa, worried about the fact Jen hadn't been home all night. Jen had thanked Fiona profusely for staying over and the pastries she'd bought to share with Sarah had to be stretched to all three of them. Sarah, ravenously hungry after her night and day of vomiting had, between bites, given her sister a thorough look over. Finally, she'd turned to Jen and said, "Spill the beans."

Jen, feeling very teenage but unable to stop herself, had. Spilled. Just about everything. Including the fact that she doubted she'd see him again.

Sarah and Fiona had "ooh-ed" and "ah-ed" and then given Jen a long lecture about g-spots and favoured sexual positions and Sarah had run to her bedroom for a book called _Everywoman_, pressing it in Jen's hands in disbelief that she'd never read it. Fiona swore on the spot to make it her goal to find Jen lots more good sex and to chase down "_Doctor Lurve_" as they were now calling Greg, so Jen could get more.

True to her word, Fiona had turned up last night, ready to take the girls out on the town. Sarah and Fiona took Jen into their hands, applying her make-up and pulling some clothes from Sarah's wardrobe, eventually finding a sexy black tank top that looked great with jeans and strappy black heels. Jen didn't feel quite herself, but decided to let the girls have their way and sat back patiently while they put on eyeliner and pulled her hair into a complicated chignon. But then Sarah, unlike her usual bubbly self, declared a headache, insisting the other two go on without her.

Jen wanted to stay home with Sarah, still feeling guilty about leaving her the previous weekend, but Fiona was so excited and Jen didn't want their hard work on her image to go to waste. So Jen and Fiona had hit a couple of bars, including the one where she'd met Greg, but after a bit of flirting – still very hesitant on Jen's behalf – and numerous cocktails, Fiona had hit it off with a tall guy who told them he was a cinematographer and Jen had been relieved to call it a night.

"Ah well, sis, at least you're out and about. Two Friday nights in a row, nonetheless! Good for you." Sarah gave Jen a smile that showed she was genuinely pleased for her.

"What about you? How's your headache?"

"Oh…it's fine."

Sarah's dismissive tone immediately had Jen concerned. It just wasn't like Sarah to decline an invitation unless she was really sick or…

"You're still worried about the drink spiking aren't you?"

"Nah." Sarah grabbed the spoon from Jen and dug into the ice cream again.

"Then what are you still doing up at two am? If you're not feeling well?"

"Waiting for you to get home," Sarah said eventually, so quietly Jen almost didn't hear her.

"Worried about me?"

"I guess…I couldn't sleep…and then I started thinking about how easily it happened…what could have happened…" Sarah drew in a shaky breath.

"Right, that's it. We're just going to have to go out next weekend too."

Sarah smiled weakly.

"It's all about getting back on the horse," Jen said, hearing the echo of Greg's words to her the previous weekend. "So to speak. Sarah, you've looked after me for a while. Let me look after you for a change. We'll go out and have fun and watch each other's drinks. And see who we both can meet. There _are_ some nice guys out there."

"Like Greg?"

Sarah's use of his real name shocked Jen into silence for a second. It caused Jen to pause and think seriously about him. Again. She'd had no shortage of thinking about him in the last week. In fact she couldn't really remember of any length of time that she'd gone _without_ thinking about him. Or what they'd done together. _Those_ memories still made warmth pool between her thighs.

"I don't know if _nice_ is the word I'd use."

"No, it didn't sound like that would be the word that would fit. Hot, horny, talented? Am I getting close?"

"Sarah!" Jen could feel herself blush, yet again ruing how much she'd shared with her sister, but she'd been so excited by her own boldness she couldn't contain herself. The one thing she hadn't shared was the knot of sadness she felt at knowing she wouldn't see him again. Something about him made her want to take care of him, to hold him until the pain she could see he was in went away, to make him see that he could be loved. But then, she told herself, they were familiar emotions to her – she felt them at her work all the time, looking after damaged children who often needed to be loved just as much as they needed to talk.

But it had been a one-night stand and all those feelings were next to useless.

"He's definitely got a gentle side, but I think it's buried pretty far down," Jen said eventually.

"So maybe he's dark-chocolate-coated nice. You know, a hard, slightly bitter outside with a marshmallowy inside."

"Marshmallowy? No." Jen shook her head. That was definitely _not_ the right adjective. "Besides it doesn't matter. He hasn't called and it was a one-night deal. It was good for me, broke the little drought I was in, showed me that it was actually possible to have sex with someone other than Matt. So next weekend we just have to find someone new."

Jen ignored the disappointment that ate at her at the thought. _The next poor sap you get into bed_, Greg had said, _don't hold him up to these lofty ideals_.

The problem was, Jen seemed to have very quickly grown to like the strong, complex and slightly burning taste of single-malt highland scotch whisky. Going back to a cheap blend was going to be difficult.

* * *

--

_The next Friday night_

Both nursing their third drinks of the evening, House and Wilson had been quiet for a while. They had each had big weeks and difficult patients which – for once – had all been resolved that day. So they felt like many other people in the bar who had the luxury of working Monday to Friday – tired, a little drained, and looking for some fun to perk them up for the weekend.

"Decent of your patient to die and mine to respond to the prednisone on a Friday afternoon, wasn't it?" House said congenially. His recently renegotiated deal with Amber meant he got Wilson on Friday nights and they seemed to have made this bar their regular haunt.

"House," Wilson began scoldingly. He looked as if he was about to say more, then just shook his head as if he'd decided he couldn't be bothered with the reprimand.

"Well, it is. They could have lingered into Saturday and we wouldn't be here, drinking this fine whisky and enjoying the scintillating company of…" he trailed off and waved his hand in the direction of a group of guys who seemed about to launch into a fist fight.

"Yeah, we have to find a new bar."

"I don't know, I kind of like this one."

Wilson gave him a searching look.

"Are you looking for the kindergarten teacher, sorry, _philosopher_ again?"

"What? No." House hoped his tone was appropriately dismissive. Actually he had been wondering. Hoping?

It was annoying that Jennifer Edwards kept popping into his brain at the most inappropriate moments. When he was in the middle of a differential with his team; talking to Cuddy and ogling her breasts; writing a Viagra prescription for an elderly clinic patient called Edward. "That ship has sailed."

"Really?" Wilson looked doubtful.

House had decided that maybe he did need to see Jen again – not that he was about to admit that to Wilson. And not that he'd do anything as reasonable as pick up the phone and call the number that she'd left lying on the desk. He decided it was a fate thing and something he needed to get out of his system. It had been a while since he'd had hot, sweet sex the way he had with her. Not to mention a couple of hours' worth of interesting conversation. It was entirely possible that his body simply craved a repeat performance. Once he did that, then the craving would be gone.

_Yeah, right. Like once he had one more Vicodin that would be enough. _

"Another drink?" He asked Wilson, side-stepping what he could see was about to become an inquisition.

"Okay, but that better be the last. Amber doesn't like it if I…"

"Don't want to know." House held up a hand abruptly to stop Wilson's explanation and rose to go to the bar. He ordered a whisky and drained it immediately, ordering another drink for himself and a wine for Wilson. Was it just him, or had the whole world suddenly paired off? Wilson was dopey about Amber and he'd heard a rumour that Cuddy had been dating someone she'd met at a fundraiser. There was Chase and Cameron and…he didn't really want to know about the romantic lives of the rest of his team. But he was sure they had them. He felt like he was on Noah's Ark but somehow had forgotten to bring his pair.

House was putting the change from the drinks back into his wallet when he heard Jen's giggle. She was with her sister and another woman and they had just walked in. The three of them walked right past him, through the crowd around the bar, heading to an empty booth towards the back. Jen looked, well, _hot_. She'd done her hair differently or something, and her low-cut t-shirt revealed the swells of her stunning breasts.

House let out a loud sigh. He returned to the table with Wilson, moving his chair slightly to see if he could get a vantage point to observe the three women. Unfortunately the crowd around the bar made that impossible.

Wilson started telling him a story about Amber's aunt Grace who'd come to visit and who was apparently a seventy-year-old version of Amber. She sounded painfully up front, loud, and bordering on obnoxious if you asked House, and he knew quite a bit about the subject. But Wilson made it sound like she was hilarious.

_Amazing what love does to a man. _

House shook his head at Wilson and watched as the girl he didn't know from the trio went to the bar to order drinks.

"Well, I'm going to go now. Doesn't seem like you're very interested in my company anyway."

Wilson's words brought House back to the table. He'd been wondering what sort of drink Jen had ordered. Since when did he care about shit like that?

"No, I…" House didn't quite know how to explain himself.

"Don't drink too much tonight House."

"No mommy, I promise I won't," House said childishly, pouting up at Wilson as he rose and donned his coat.

"Don't have too much sex tonight," House said to Wilson in the same warning tones that he had used. "Aunt Grace is probably listening at the door with her hand down her very large, beige panties."

"Oh, that's gross House." Wilson made a face. He headed for the door. "Besides, you're just jealous," Wilson called over his shoulder as he left.

House turned back to his blocked view of the girls' booth and picked up his drink.

"Yeah, I probably am," he muttered into the glass.

* * *

--

Jen had let Sarah and Fiona dress her up again but Jen had exerted her own influence this time, so she felt far more comfortable than she had last week. She was wearing narrow-leg black pants that gave her a slim line and even made her look a little taller. The cherry red top that she'd borrowed from Sarah had a daringly low scooped neck that did make her nervous, but it had gathers up the sides that pulled the fabric into soft folds around her belly. It was tight, but hid her little bulges beautifully. Her hair was out, falling in waves over her shoulders, and she'd let Fiona do her eyeliner again. Her hands still couldn't help fluttering over her décolletage, nervous about the amount of skin on display, but she had to admit that she felt a bit sexy.

Right from the start, two guys offered to buy them drinks, but the girls had agreed they were on a strict "buy our own only" night. Still, Jen had actually managed to flirt with a guy, even reaching over to squeeze his arm muscles after he made some boast about working out. He was extremely attractive and Jen knew that even though he was talking to her, he was completely out of her league. She stepped back and let her sister take over and sure enough after half an hour Sarah was kissing him near the bar. Jen didn't really mind. After all, they were out to ensure Sarah got over her fear.

Then she met Nick, a serious guy with black hair and small round glasses. He seemed shy, but he'd made an effort to cross the room to talk to her, so Jen felt she had to talk to him out of politeness if nothing else. He was a scientist and very passionate about his work, talking about it in detail that spun far above Jen's head. She was starting to feel tired and even a bit disappointed with the night and wondered if she could catch a cab home. She'd honestly tried her best, but this scene was just _not_ her.

Jen was starting to work out how to extract herself from Nick's conversation so she could go and tell the girls she was heading home when she felt someone walk up close behind her and whisper in her ear.

"_Dr Jennifer Edwards_." His low, gravelly voice in her ear was not at all what Jen was expecting. It immediately brought back memories of their lovemaking and the desperation and desire in his voice when he'd called her name in bed. She turned away from Nick abruptly.

"Hello, uh…" She felt completely thrown; sent off-balance by just his presence. He was standing close enough that she could feel his heat, smell the soap he must have just recently used. If she'd seen him in the bar before then, anticipated talking to him again, she was sure she would be more in control. But her brain seemed to have gone on a holiday, taking her through the erotic mental photo album that was their night together.

"Um…I…" she stalled, trying to work out what to say. She watched him frown at her, obviously displeased about something. They stared at each other in silence for a long time.

Nick put a hand on her arm. "Jen, are you okay?"

She turned back to face Nick and smiled at him, grateful for his concern. He really was a nice guy. Doing absolutely nothing for her, but a nice guy nonetheless. "Thanks Nick, yeah I'm fine. We're…old friends. Nick this is…"

She turned back to House but he'd spun on his heels and walked away from her and was now halfway to the back of the bar. Jen looked at his retreating back, puzzled.

"Some friend," Nick offered helpfully.

"Yeah, I guess…" Jen was still confused. What had just happened?

"Now I have this friend…" Nick went off telling another of his "wacky science geek" stories and Jen listened patiently, trying to make sure she was nodding and "ah-ing" in the right places. Her brain was entirely focussed on Greg. Where had he gone? What was he thinking? Why had he even come up to speak to her in the first place? The only reason she'd agreed to come to this bar again in the first place was because she was sure that if they did happen to accidentally run into each other, he'd play it so cool as to bring on another ice age. But calling her name right into her ear? Close enough that she could feel his warm breath and smell the whisky he'd been drinking?

After putting up with a few minutes of Nick's excruciatingly boring story, Jen excused herself to go to the bathroom. She spent a long time staring at the back of the cubicle door, her thoughts in a whirl. Just when she'd stopped thinking about him every second minute, there he was back again. She didn't understand what part she was supposed to play and she once again cursed Matt and the way her life had turned out. She was sure any other woman would know what to do. Should she be cool and disinterested? Friendly and flirty? Sighing loudly she eventually washed her hands and left.

As soon as she was out of the bathroom door, someone grabbed her wrist painfully tightly, pulled her backwards and then spun her against the wall outside the washrooms. She didn't even need a second to realise who it was. His cane clattered to the floor as he grabbed both her wrists and restrained them above her head, pinning her against the wall with his body. She could smell the whisky on his breath and feel the arousal he was taking no pains to hide pressing into her belly.

"Did you forget my name Jen?" His voice was seductive yet cold, with a dark edge of something from a dream.

He ducked his head to kiss her ear. Despite herself, Jen felt liquid heat immediately begin to pool between her legs. Her heart beat notched up several speeds and her breathing quickened.

"Jennifer Edwards? Did I not make you call it out often enough to make you remember it?" He kissed a hot, wet trail down her neck.

"No…" Jen said breathlessly, trying to explain.

Before she could continue he pressed his mouth to hers, a wet, open-mouthed kiss that went way beyond any of the kissing they'd done on her sofa. His tongue demanded and his mouth took; Jen unable to escape even if she'd wanted to.

He pushed his right leg roughly between hers, forcing her legs apart, rubbing against her mons with his thigh.

"Greg, I…"

"That's better."

Jen groaned as his mouth trailed down her neck again, unable to keep her eyes from fluttering closed. She knew the corridor outside the bathrooms was mostly hidden from the bar, but someone could walk around the corner at any time and see them. Jen was aware enough to be surprised at herself for not caring.

She struggled against his strong hand holding her wrists prisoner and he eventually let her go, bringing his hand down to run a fingertip just inside the low neckline of her top.

"I see you got some new clothes," he whispered, his mouth next to her ear again.

"It's Sarah's," she said, for lack of the brainpower to think of anything better. His breath on her face, his thigh between hers and his erection pressing into her stomach was almost sensory overload.

"Sarah gets a gold star for sharing."

He lifted his leg higher, pressing into her more forcefully. He smiled darkly at her when she gasped.

"Greg, I…" She tried again. Wanting to explain herself.

He kissed her again, forcing her mouth open, plundering her. His hand plunged down her top, pushing his way inside her bra to cup her naked breast in his hand.

"God, Jen, you have the most luscious breasts." He pulled his mouth away from hers, muttering against her neck as he licked the pulse point at the base of her neck.

He was drunk, she could taste it, smell it, hear it in his slurred words. He pressed against her harder, forcing her back into the wall, one of his hands pulling down her top indecently in his quest for her bare flesh, the other tangling in her hair and forcefully pulling her head to his.

"Greg, you're hurting me…" Jen turned away from his mouth to speak, starting to feel a little flicker of fear. She was trembling with desire, and part of her even wondered about heading into a cubicle in the ladies and letting him have his way. She knew he'd find her panties drenched and her body opening for him willingly. But he was playing just a little too hard for her comfort.

"Come on Jen," he said, more than a bit of little-boy pleading in his voice. "We didn't get a chance to do it rough." He took his hand out from her top and pushed it down between them, lowering his leg and replacing its pressure against her with his hot palm. "I know you'll like it. I'll make you come again and again."

She had no doubt that he would.

"Greg, you're drunk."

"I know," he said, wiggling his fingers against her. It took all her self-control not to moan aloud. "I promise that it doesn't affect my performance."

Jen opened her eyes just in time to see Nick round the corner from the bar. He stopped, frozen in place as he took in the scene in front of him. Jen realised he could probably see most of her breast because House had pulled her top down and her bra cup aside.

After a moment's embarrassed silence, Nick just nodded.

"I was worried when you didn't come back. But I see you're…okay." He turned and went back into the bar.

Jen took a deep breath, mortified as she came to her senses. This was not what she did. Sensible, studious, shy and slightly overweight Jennifer Edwards did not lose her mind being groped in the hallway of public washrooms.

"Greg. Greg!" Jen had to call his name a couple of times before he responded, bringing his head away from the path he was following to her breast, looking up at her, his eyes red-rimmed.

She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away, feeling how unsteady he was. She realised that he had been resting most of his weight on one leg for a while and it had probably hurt him to press his thigh into her the way he had.

Making sure he had one hand in contact with the wall, she pushed herself back into her bra and righted her top. She leant down and picked up his cane, forcing it into his right hand.

"Greg, it's time to go home."

"Come with me."

"No." Jen struggled with the word and then realised that she didn't really mean it. "Not tonight," she modified.

"Yes, tonight. Come on. Come." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, emphasising his lame double entendre.

Jen shook her head. She realised that rationalising with him in this state would be pointless. And he was an adult. She wasn't responsible for him.

"Look, I'm going home. You have my number. Call me. Maybe we could go out one night."

House blinked at her slowly but didn't say anything.

Jen sighed. It was time for her to leave. She turned and left him, walking back out into the bar, searching for Sarah.

Sarah gave her a questioning look, and Jen realised she must look a bit dishevelled. But putting off explanations for another time, Jen gave a hurried story about not feeling well and headed outside to grab a cab.

As she wrapped her coat more tightly around her at the icy wind, she turned and looked back through the glass doors. Greg was leaning against the bar, obviously about to order another drink.

_He is an adult. Not my responsibility. He can do what he likes. _Jen screwed up her face and stamped her foot. _No! No! No! _she railed internally, having a tantrum about it, but knowing that her conscience wouldn't allow any other outcome.

A cab pulled up and Jen leaned in the window.

"Hi, just let me get my friend. I'll be out in a minute."

"Sure lady, but I'm starting the meter."

Jen nodded her agreement and then headed back into the bar.

"Greg." She put an arm around his shoulders and smiled at the look of pure wonderment he gave her when he recognised her.

"Jen, you came back!" He gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. "Knew you would," he confided noisily into her ear.

"Come on, the taxi's outside."

He nodded and wrapped his arm around her waist, making a stumbling way out of the bar. Jen helped him into the cab with difficulty, suddenly very aware of how tall and broad shouldered he was.

The cab took off into the night, the driver obviously impatient with the waiting, even though he was being paid.

"Where to?"

Jen couldn't for the life of her remember the name of Greg's street. Obviously the stress she was under when she had driven over there had blotted it from her mind.

"Greg?" She shook his shoulder, but he'd fallen asleep, leaning into her. "Greg? What's your address?"

"Come on lady, where am I driving to? I can drive in circles all night if you want me to. As long as you pay the fare."

Jen rolled her eyes. Of course she would have to get the grumpiest cab driver in the city.

She sighed and gave him her address.

Thankfully House woke up enough to get himself into Jen's apartment. She wondered momentarily about having him sleep on the sofa, but she didn't want Sarah to be startled when she came home and it was entirely possible that Fiona might expect the sofa if she didn't pick up a guy.

She dragged him into her bedroom, sitting him down on the bed. She knelt down to take off his shoes and socks. As she pulled the last sock off she could feel his gaze on her. Looking up, she was startled by his suddenly clear blue gaze.

"Thank you." He spoke so softly she was almost not sure if he actually said it. His eyes held hers for a long moment.

"You're welcome," she said finally, blushing and looking away. Taking a deep breath to rid herself of the feelings his look had provoked, Jen stood up and put a hand under his shoulder.

"Stand up and undo your jeans."

"Best offer I've had all night." His leering look was back, the sweet and slightly sad Greg from earlier buried under what she could now see was the mask he wore to protect that version of himself.

He fumbled undoing his jeans, but finally got them down, pushing his silky boxer shorts with them.

"Uh-uh," Jen shook her head, grabbing the waistband of his boxers and pulling them back up.

"Oh Jen, you weren't so shy the other night…"

"You weren't so drunk the other night."

He closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Fair enough."

She sat him down, took his jeans all the way off, unbuttoned his shirt, pulled his t-shirt over his head and lay him back in the bed. Jen went out into the kitchen to get him a glass of water, and he was asleep and snoring loudly by the time she returned.

"Not one of your better ideas, Jen," she muttered to herself. She found her pyjamas and undressed, safe in the knowledge that there was no way he was seeing anything.

She crawled into bed and sighed to herself loudly. _In bed with Greg again. _But not exactly how she'd pictured it. She could still smell the soap from earlier, but his own sweaty male smell was filling the bed. God help her, but it seriously turned her on. The stale alcohol smell though? _That_ she could do without. Despite it, she couldn't help herself from curling into his warmth, one hand on his hard, round shoulder, watching his profile and his chest rise and fall until sleep claimed her as well.


	8. Chapter 8

House woke to the distant sound of someone vomiting, but all he could think was that he was just grateful it wasn't him. His leg hurt, his head hurt and his mouth felt as if a passing cat had dropped its litter tray in there. Jen had put a glass of water next to the bed, but it was gone in two mouthfuls.

He looked around the dark room, estimating that he hadn't been asleep for more than a couple of hours; it was certainly still the dead of night. Jen was sleeping soundly, turned away from him, and she'd folded his clothes over the back of a chair across the room. His jeans pocket held his Vicodin which meant he was going to have to get up.

Carefully he rose, finding that Jen had left his cane next to the bed. He smiled, shaking his head in wonder at the small touch of kindness. Why she had even bothered to take him home in the first place was a bigger mystery, but one he wasn't prepared to get into – not with his head in the state it was in. He picked up the glass and found the Vicodin, palming a couple of pills until he could get more water.

He headed into the kitchen and filled the glass from the tap a couple of times, draining it and swallowing the pills.

"Avoid Sarah's room, her guy's been puking."

The voice from the sofa in the living room startled him so much he almost dropped the glass. He turned to see the third girl who'd been with Jen and Sarah at the bar sitting up from a temporary bed on the sofa, giving him a thorough look over.

He hadn't turned the light on so it was doubtful she could see much in the shadows, but he moved to hide his right side from her gaze. He hadn't thought to put on any clothes, unused to sharing living space with others, but he suddenly realised that it probably had been unwise to wander around such a female den in his boxer shorts.

"Thanks for the tip."

"You're Doctor Love, aren't you?"

House snorted with disbelief. "Is that what Jen called me?"

"No. That's what _we_ called you after Jen told us what you did to her."

"Right." House was uncharacteristically lost for a witty comeback. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about Jen sharing the details of their sex with her friends. "Well, good night." He hoped that she would lie down on the sofa again so he could walk out of the kitchen.

"Yeah, good night." She didn't lay back. Instead, the woman rose from the sofa and walked towards him. She was wearing a white cotton camisole and white lace thong, her curly dark hair tousled and her long fingernails scarlet. She looked like something from a soft-core men's magazine come to life.

House was frozen in place, just watching as her bra-less breasts swayed as she walked. She walked right up to him, unnecessarily brushing against him to grab a glass from the sink, filling it with water and then leaning back to drink it. She brushed against him again as she sat it back down and then walked back to the sofa, clearly aware that her bare butt cheeks were visible to him.

House sighed, despite what was clearly on offer he was tired and hungover and wanted to go back to bed. And back to Jen. Jen who had scraped his drunken ass out of the bar last night and taken him to her home. And Jen, who, for reasons he still didn't understand considering her lack of confidence, managed to arouse more sexual desire in him with a glance than this woman's mostly naked body had. Eventually he decided that he didn't really care too much about sofa girl getting a look at his scar so he limped out of the kitchen, heading past the living room and back to Jen's room without a word.

"Dr Love?" She called out to him just as he had his hand on Jen's bedroom doorhandle.

"Yeah?" He squinted back into the gloom, instantly swearing under his breath for answering to the ridiculous name.

"When you get tired of Sandra Dee, I can give you a run for your money."

House paused, wondering if he'd actually just heard what he thought he'd heard. He opened Jen's door and closed it behind him without saying anything.

* * *

--

Jen woke up with the weight of Greg's arm and leg over her. Once again she was struck by the possessiveness and slight desperation in the gesture. He was part sexual predator, laying claim to his woman; part little boy, clinging to his teddy bear.

Unable to help herself, she twisted in his grasp to plant a light kiss on his forehead. In his sleep he wrinkled his nose in response and shifted in the bed, turning away from her.

Jen took a deep breath, expanding her rib cage after lying with the weight of his arm over her. She was hungry and thirsty, but she could hear Sarah giggling with some guy out in the living room. Jen had a lot to be grateful to her sister for, but putting up with some of the idiots she brought home was not an ideal part of their living arrangements.

She waited in bed until the giggling moved into Sarah's bedroom, the door slamming shut. She looked over to see if the noise had disturbed Greg, but he was still sleeping, snoring gently.

Jen got up and made herself some coffee and toast. She noted the blanket and pillows on the sofa that indicated that Fiona had stayed over, but she must have gone home. It was no wonder Fiona had left, Sarah was obviously busy so wouldn't be any company… and – she thought with a little startle of surprise – with Greg in her bed, so was she.

She hummed a little while she waited for her breakfast to cook, rummaging through a box of her books. For at least the fiftieth time she told herself that she really needed to unpack. Finally she found the book she was looking for and took her breakfast back to bed.

She'd finished both the coffee and toast, gone and poured herself another cup, and was well into the third chapter by the time House roused.

"Hello." She said quietly, smiling as he cracked one eye open, looking up at her leaning against a pile of pillows with her book.

"Hi." He had the good manners to look slightly ashamed of himself.

"How's the head?"

"Mmm." He made an indeterminate noise and she watched as he carefully took one of his pills from an orange bottle on the nightstand and drank the glass of water next to him. He lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes again, lying still for so long that Jen thought he'd fallen asleep again. She went back to her book.

"Are you really reading Kafka? In bed? On Saturday?" He was leaning up on one elbow so he could read the front cover of her book.

"Ah, philosophy PhD, remember?" she reminded him.

"Yeah, but Metamorphosis?" Jen felt herself blush, but she wasn't quite sure why she was embarrassed. Perhaps it was because the book had popped into her mind that morning and she'd felt a compulsion to read it. Maybe it was just because the main character's name was Gregor, and so she'd been reminded of it. But there was something more too. Something about the agony and anguish of transformation and losing your identity. Some of the things she was trying to work through herself.

Without turning into a giant insect, of course.

"Don't you have any of those chick lit novels everyone's reading these days?"

"Yes, but…" She was interrupted by him sitting up and reaching over her, half lying on her body as he examined the nightstand next to her. He grabbed the small pile of books resting there and flopped back into bed.

Jen was immediately battling warring thoughts: frantically trying to remember which books she had out and also trying to quash the instant arousal the weight of his chest against her breasts had provoked.

House put the pile books on his stomach and held them up one by one for examination.

"Janet Evanovich. Yeah, they seem to sell a lot of this in the hospital gift store. Any good?"

"Well, I like…"

He didn't let her finish, unceremoniously dumping the book onto the floor next to him before picking up the next one.

"Boring." The new linguistics text that a colleague in Oxford had sent her was tossed to the floor after he barely skimmed the back cover.

The next book, another heavy tome, this one about faith and religion in the twenty-first century, joined its predecessors on the floor.

"Also boring."

He picked up the next book between thumb and forefinger as if it was a particularly nasty bug. "Well, well, now we get to the real Jen Edwards. Trashy romance. I love it. _The bad boy for love_." He read the corny title aloud.

Jen cringed. Yes it was hers. She'd bought it when she was waiting to pick up her parents from the airport the last time they'd visited and their flight had been delayed. And yes, most embarrassingly, she'd really enjoyed it.

He started flicking through the pages, obviously looking for certain words to jump out at him. Jen looked down at the final book in the pile and felt her face flush with heat. The gynaecology guide that Sarah had loaned her was the last book lying on his stomach. She knew it was bookmarked at the chapter about sex which included diagrams of sexual positions. It was too much to ask that he wouldn't notice.

Jen took a deep breath and decided she wouldn't be embarrassed. It wasn't like it was the _Karma Sutra_. It was an educational book that she had every right to be reading. But still, she didn't want to watch when he picked it up.

"Coffee?" she asked, already getting out of bed. "Toast?"

He was still seemingly engrossed in the pulpy romance novel. "Yeah, that'd be great."

Jen spent a few minutes in the kitchen, loading a tray with coffees for each of them and toast and jelly for him.

When she came back in the room his head was in the dreaded book. Jen put the tray between them on the bed without comment.

"The labelling on the anatomy diagrams in this book is woeful," he said once she was back in bed.

"Well, I don't think it was written for medical practitioners."

He snorted dismissively and picked up the coffee, taking a long drink before putting it on the nightstand. He grabbed the toast and started eating, without looking up from the book or saying thank you.

"Yeah, no problem," Jen muttered in response to his lack of manners, settling back into bed with her coffee and book.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I'll thank you. I just have to wait until my head feels better."

"Oh." Jen wasn't quite sure what he meant. She thought she knew, but…

Abruptly he closed the book and tossed it into her lap, careful to avoid her hot coffee.

"I'm glad you're reading this. You should know more about your body than you do. But, stop when you get up to the menopause chapter. Trust me, that's news you can wait for."

"Right." Jen nodded, as if that was particularly useful advice.

He took another long drink of the coffee and sighed appreciatively. "I'm sure you know about adult learning principles. Adults learn by doing, not just reading?"

"Yeeesss," Jen answered hesitantly.

"So I'd like to do pages thirty-eight, thirty-nine and forty-three. In that order."

Jen swallowed hard. Suddenly nervous again. What if she was bad at them? Would he give her a chance to read the book again before she had to perform?

"And there'll be a pop quiz afterwards to test your understanding."

She laughed loudly, amused and half-wondering if he could read her thoughts. "What about your headache?"

"Well, not right _now_, obviously."

"Obviously."

He picked up the romance and starting reading again, seemingly engrossed in the chapter he'd found.

Jen watched him for a minute, curious, but he didn't look back at her, reading and munching loudly on the toast.

* * *

--

They spent at least another half an hour in bed, each reading their respective books and drinking their coffee. The apartment was peaceful until rhythmic banging started in the room across the hall. A loud, female, pleasurable sigh was clearly audible.

House looked over at Jen and raised an eyebrow.

Jen rolled her eyes. "Welcome to my weekend."

"This happens every weekend?"

"Just about."

"It all feels a bit like being in college. People sleeping on the sofa, listening to other people have sex…" House recalled the midnight conversation with the woman in the living room. He hoped she wasn't someone Jen counted as a close friend.

Another loud moan came through the walls.

"Sarah's a screamer," Jen confided.

"Surely that's something you don't want to know about your sister."

Jen shrugged. "I've got a lot to be grateful to Sarah for. If I have to put up with listening to her having sex, then I guess that's the price I have to pay."

"How long have you been living here?" House had seen the boxes around the place and even Jen's bedroom had an impermanent feel.

"Almost twelve months."

House was surprised. If he'd been asked to guess he would have said a few weeks, maybe a couple of months at a stretch.

"Why haven't you unpacked?"

He saw a confused look cross Jen's face and wasn't quite sure what to make of it. His question obviously unsettled her.

"Not enough storage in this place," she said finally.

He decided to let her get away with that for now.

"The girl sleeping on the sofa – she a friend of yours?" He saw her frown at him, obviously wondering how he knew about their guest. "I got up to get a drink during the night and saw her there."

"Oh." Jen nodded. "Fiona? Well, sort of. She's more Sarah's friend. But she's been nice to me."

"Right." House's tone was appropriately disbelieving, but he wasn't going to tell Jen Fiona had tried to pick him up. Besides, Fiona was a stunning-looking woman and he couldn't quite believe that it had really happened. Women like that did not go for old, crippled doctors, despite his fantasies.

Jen took a half a breath as if she wasn't sure whether or not to speak, but then she sighed and spoke, somewhat reluctantly. "I guess I lost a lot of my old friends in the 'divorce'. The friends I had were all friends that Matt and I had, as a couple."

"But he was the cheater. Don't the friends usually side with the wronged party?"

"Yeah, but he wasn't the one who changed his life as a result. I left academia, moved away from the campus, got a very practical, very hands-on job."

"And your friends didn't like that?"

Jen sighed. "It wasn't as clear-cut as that. When we'd get together our conversation was different. I had a different frame of reference. I was – I kind of hate to use these words – but I was more in the _real world_ than they were."

"So you didn't have the same interests any more."

"Yeah. And Sarah has been great. Not many sisters would not only share their apartment but their friends and their social life."

"What does Sarah do?"

"She's the manager of a fashion store at the mall."

House shook his head wondering how two so completely different individuals could come from the same family.

"Either of you adopted?"

"What?" She looked offended.

"Nothing."

Jen paused and seemed lost in her thoughts. Her next comments sounded more like she was thinking aloud than information she actually meant to share. "But I can't hang off Sarah's life forever. She's great and her friends are nice, but I miss…" she trailed off.

"Intellectual stimulation?" House guessed.

Jen looked sheepish. "Yeah, I think so."

"That's fair enough. You've gone from circulating with PhDs to shop girls. I can imagine that's quite a come down."

Jen looked uncertain as if she didn't want to admit what House could clearly see was true.

"I think that's why I like…" She suddenly stopped herself from talking, turning away to check if there was any coffee left in her cup, despite obviously knowing it was empty and had been for a long time.

"Why you like what?" House pressed. "_Me?_ Is that what you were going to say?"

Jen nodded slowly as if the admission was a struggle. House felt a sudden surge of something he could only describe as pride. It was bizarre.

"You're intellectual, but _real_. What you do is in the real world. But you can talk concepts too. That's what I like."

She turned and smiled at him and the honesty in her eyes made House nervous. He suddenly remembered his original purpose. He'd decided to seek out Jen again so he could rid himself of this little obsession he seemed to have with her. To slake his thirst for her sex and her sweetness.

The look they were sharing was broken by a loud male grunt from the room across the hall. Jen laughed and turned away.

"What's the time?" House asked.

"Almost noon."

"Come to my place for the weekend." He thought she'd jump at the offer and was surprised by her tentatively indrawn breath.

"Greg, about last night…" she said eventually.

Whatever she wanted to ask he knew he didn't want to answer, so he interrupted abruptly. "I know, I wasn't at my best. I'll make it up to you."

"It's not that." She shook her head. "It's just…"

She paused and House wondered what she was thinking. At that moment he couldn't read her at all.

Finally she smiled at him.

"Sure. Give me a minute to have a quick shower and get my things together."

* * *

--

**A/N: **Pages thirty-eight, thirty-nine and forty-three in the next instalment…


	9. Chapter 9

Jen had quickly showered and changed and they'd caught a cab to Greg's place. She was in his living room while he showered and she didn't quite know what to do with herself. Her fingers itched to snoop around, but her manners told her to wait patiently on the sofa. Then she remembered the first time he'd been at her place, the way he'd rummaged through the box that held her degrees without compunction.

She stood and went to the book shelf, perusing the books there. She was looking for novels, clues to the person he was by the books that he read, but all she could find were medical texts and the odd non-fiction book about rare animals and history. She guessed that was a pretty big clue in itself.

It had been a while since the water had stopped running in the bathroom and she wondered what he was up to. She thought it was entirely possible he'd fallen asleep again – he'd closed his eyes and been dozing in the cab on the way over, obviously still fighting his hangover. She still wanted to know why he'd been so drunk the night before. Was it a regular thing? If so, that was something to be worried about. Or had something set it off?

"What are you doing out there?" His voice called out from the bedroom.

"Waiting for you," Jen called back.

"Well I'm waiting for you here."

Jen was faintly surprised by the dip in her stomach at his words. Of course she knew what was on offer when she accepted the invitation to stay with him, but she hadn't thought it would come around quite so quickly. She'd imagined an afternoon movie on TV or a DVD, maybe dinner and then bed. But still, perhaps it was for the best – the longer it took to get around to it, the more time she had to get nervous. She gave herself a mental pep talk as she walked down the far too short corridor towards the bedroom.

_Everything will be fine. He's already seen you naked. You're not perfect and he's not perfect. You've already made him come once before – actually twice if you count the sex. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. _

But her brain suddenly took her down a different track.

_What if this time is different? What if he expects more because he knows I read that stupid book? What if I can't lose myself like I did last time?_

Then the worst thought of all hit her like a brick. _What if it was beginner's luck? _

She got to the bedroom door and paused there. He was half-reclined on the bed, a navy towel slung low around his hips and his hair still wet. Jen hadn't bitten her fingernails since she was a teenager, but she suddenly had the desperate urge to start again.

He stared at her for a while and she just leant against the door jam, nibbling her fingertips almost unconsciously.

"You know what it is that makes a woman sexy, Jen?" he asked eventually.

She shook her head.

"You can tell that she feels sexy."

Jen snorted. _Yeah, and Angelina Jolie's body has nothing to do with her being sexy._

"Come here."

Somewhat reluctantly Jen made her way over to the bed, sitting down next to him where he patted the bed. She was frustrated and annoyed with herself for suddenly being so "in" her own head. What she'd loved about their night together – almost more than the orgasms, but not quite – was the way she'd been able to just _stop thinking _for once.

He grabbed her hand, stroked his fingers along the smooth skin of her wrist and then placed it over his groin. Pressed it into the hard, hot, heat hidden under the folds of the towel.

"This is what just _imagining_ fucking you does to me. Does that make you feel sexy? Because it should."

Jen bit her bottom lip, trying to decide whether to share what was bothering her.

"Greg…I…I haven't read that whole chapter," she said hesitantly. "I don't think I even got up to page thirty-six."

He laughed. "It was page thirty-eight. And it's okay. I didn't expect you to study."

"I'm nervous still," she admitted, casting her eyes down. She remembered that it was exactly this anxiety that had ruined things between them the first time. When she'd knocked on his door, edgy and afraid. More than anything, more than her fear, she didn't want that to happen again.

"But I want you." She lifted her head to look him in the eyes. Trying to tell him without words that she'd been tight and hot with anticipation ever since he'd leaned over her in bed that morning. "I want to fuck you." She'd thought it would sound silly and clichéd – could hardly believe the words were leaving her mouth – but because she meant it and because desire had lowered her voice it sounded cool and sexy and she saw the light kindle his in eyes.

"Then let's do that."

She kept her place, sitting on the edge of the bed, but she leaned over him, touching her lips lightly to his. He lay still, just taking his hand from where it still pressed hers into his groin, raising it to her shoulder and running it down her arm as their kiss deepened.

Abruptly she pulled back, seeing his eyes open wide in puzzlement at the sudden halt.

"What?"

"Greg? Can we…?" she paused, not sure how to say what she needed to ask. It had just suddenly occurred to her that something was missing and she now knew what it was. "I mean could you…"

"What?" His eyebrows raised and he gave her a wicked smile.

"Can you take me out to dinner?"

A confused and vaguely disappointed look crossed his face and Jen suddenly realised he had thought she was going to ask him for something sexual.

"You're hungry?"

"No, it's just that we've never…gone on a _date_."

"Now?" He sounded annoyed. "It's a bit early. Can we finish what we're doing here first?"

"Of course!"

He crinkled his nose. "And then I think I need a nap. But after that, sure."

Satisfied, Jen nodded and put her attention to immediate matters at hand. Or underneath her hand, to be more precise.

* * *

--

House had taken her to his favourite Italian restaurant. It wasn't the most expensive place in town, but it was a cut above the average – it had dark leather booths, proper linen, low lighting and sparkling glassware. A good first-date place. He ordered an expensive merlot and they'd talked – a lot. He was a little surprised at how much she'd got him to share. She now knew broadly about his family, his college years and a sketchy outline of his career to date. He'd even told her a bit about the infarction and that inevitably led to talking about Stacy. But she hadn't pressed for details and he was impressed that she'd taken this long to even show the slightest curiosity about his leg. To him that meant she didn't think it was important – and that was important.

Inviting her for the weekend had been a fairly impulsive whim – a decision made more by his penis than his brain – and he hadn't expected to be enjoying the non-sex time with Jen so much. It had been a long while since he'd felt he could talk to someone this easily. Maybe it was because he felt she wasn't judging him and that he had nothing to prove to her. He had the level of hero-worship from her that his ego required because of the sex thing.

And she was too busy doubting herself to look for faults in him.

Logically, he knew something about all that wasn't quite healthy – Wilson certainly wouldn't approve – but hey, it was working for now. And if there was anything House was good at it was ignoring little warning signs in his relationships with other people. Funny that it was the exact opposite quality with his patients that made him such an excellent diagnostician.

He opened the door to his apartment and stepped back to let her in first, continuing their conversation from the cab about their meal.

"I told you the tiramisu was the best in town."

"And you were right," she agreed as she walked in, shrugging off her coat and toeing off her shoes.

"We should have got some take-out for breakfast."

She smiled at him. "Now that would be decadent."

Their eyes met and he saw the smoulder in hers. The afternoon had been very pleasant, but he hadn't been completely satisfied. She'd insisted on going down on him and hey, he wasn't about to refuse a good BJ, but his appetite had really been for more of the in-out, legs-wrapped-around-his-waist type of activity. But with a hangover and not being as young as he once was, she had pretty much wiped him out for the afternoon. Possibly seeing how tired he was, she'd politely refused his offer to reciprocate saying she owed him at least one from the last time, so he guessed – hoped – she'd already be in second gear. Besides, he'd been running his hand up and down the inside of her thigh under the table during dinner and had whispered a couple of obscene suggestions to her during dessert, enjoying watching the flush of embarrassment rise on her face in response.

"Kiss me." Her voice was a whisper and he was more than happy to oblige, thrilled that she seemed ready – eager even – to get down to business. His hangover had now all but disappeared, the combination of orgasm, nap and a couple of glasses of wine proving an effective treatment. He mentally filed that information away for future reference as he hung his cane on the cornice above the door and reached out to hold her face with one hand, leaning down to kiss her.

It didn't take long before her lips opened under his, inviting him into her mouth with a sweet sigh of surrender. He put one hand against the wall to steady himself, but resisted the temptation to push her against it, not wanting to bring back any reminders of his behaviour the previous night.

The kiss heated up quickly and he showed her with his tongue what he longed to do to her body. She responded, all the anxiety from earlier seemingly dissipated, unable to stop herself moaning into his mouth. He pulled away, breathless, and smiled at her up-turned face, swollen lips and flushed cheeks. He realised her neck was bent almost all the way back and he'd had to lean down quite a way to reach her mouth. Further than he remembered.

"Hey, when did you get so short?"

She kicked up a foot to show him she was no longer wearing her heels.

"Well, this is killing my neck. And my leg too." Not an admission he generally made. "Come here."

He grabbed her hand and limped over to the sofa, flopping down to recline on it and pulling her down on top of him. She giggled when he did, which from any other woman would have sounded girlish and silly, but from her he found it cute and charming. She fell into him, wriggling up until their faces were level, avoiding putting any of her weight onto his bad thigh, but without making it seem like she was doing so deliberately. Again, he was impressed by her nonchalance. Grateful even.

"Your beard is softer today," she said, rubbing his cheek lightly with her fingertips.

"It's longer. Didn't clip it today."

She nodded. "The skin on my chin is just going to have to get tougher."

"It will, just give it time. Like guitarists have to grow calluses on their fingers."

He was expecting her to laugh or make a crack about not wanting calluses on her face but instead a shadow crossed her eyes and she frowned.

"What?" he asked.

She shook her head and seemed to paste a smile back on.

"Nothing." She leaned down and touched her lips to his, a soft, gentle, lips-only kiss, then lifted up again to look into his eyes.

"Thank you for taking me out for dinner."

"You're welcome. Now demonstrate your gratitude properly."

He loved the cheeky grin she gave him in response, liking this relaxed, uninhibited version of Jen. Half a bottle of wine seemed to do the trick nicely, he thought, remembering that it had been several shots of whisky that had got her into his bed the first time.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked.

He tugged on her sweater. "Off."

Immediately she twisted around on the sofa, sitting up and pulling the sweater over her head. She had a silky black camisole underneath and what looked like a black lace bra.

"That too."

A little more hesitantly she pulled the camisole off, immediately leaning back down on him to kiss him again. He knew she was doing it on purpose, so he couldn't see her bare belly, so he pushed her away.

"No, jeans first."

She paused and he could just about see the doubts flicking through her mind, but just as he was about to get annoyed by her hesitation, she stood and undid them, pulling them all the way off to reveal a matching thong.

"Now that's appropriately grateful," he said approvingly.

"Sit up," she told him.

He did as she asked and she unbuttoned and pulled off the pastel blue cotton shirt he'd come to think of as his 'date shirt'. Not that it had had many airings recently. She then knelt down on the floor, sitting back on her heels, to pull off his runners and socks. The sight of her on the floor at his feet in black lingerie was entirely agreeable.

She looked up and smiled, putting her hands on his knees and pushing his legs apart so she could kneel up between them. She leant in and kissed his chest, flicking a tongue against one nipple as her hands sought the fastening of his jeans.

House lay his head back and closed his eyes, letting her hands and mouth roam over him and tug down his zipper. He raised his hips to help her pull the jeans off, his boxers going with them. He was only half-hard but a long firm lick from the base to the head of his shaft soon had that problem fixed. He began to chuckle when her mouth took him in.

She looked up at him, letting him slip out of her mouth, a puzzled and slightly hurt expression on her face at his laughter.

"You may not have got all the way through that chapter, but I'm guessing you did cover the bit on oral sex?"

She didn't have to say anything – the flush on her cheeks told him everything.

"I thought…I just…"

He could hear her defensiveness and felt a little bad for teasing her.

"It's okay. You were doing a very good job. You did a very good job before you read up on it too. Come here."

He put his hands on the top of her arms and pulled, getting her to rise and sit straddling him on the sofa, one knee on either side of his hips. He pulled her head to him to kiss her, trying to let her know that he'd really only been teasing.

She pulled back and gave him an earnest look.

"I can't help it you know," she said quietly. "This is who I am. When I was a kid if I didn't know something my parents always told me to go look it up in a book. I grew up thinking that I could always find answers in books. Then as I grew older and found that I didn't always find what I was looking for, I decided to dig even deeper – trying to find the answers in the words themselves. Matt made it easy, he enabled it, but it took me a while to realise that I've basically been hiding from the world for the past twelve years in libraries all around the world. I guess when I'm uncertain I go back to books. They just feel…safe."

House just nodded. Further personal revelations weren't necessarily on the menu for him that night, but he was touched that she'd shared something private with him.

"I understand," he said, looking deep into her honey-brown eyes. "And I'm flattered. That you think I'm worth studying for."

"You are definitely worth studying for and I'm sure there's more you can teach me. I want to get an A."

"Teacher, hey? Well I want to get some ass, so I guess that works out well for both of us."

She laughed, stopping with an abruptly drawn breath when his hand wiggled down her panties.

"You should have taken these off before you sat up here," he said, leaning in to kiss her neck. But she didn't give him a chance, standing up instantly to whip down her thong and toss it across the room. It landed, rather amusingly he thought, on the lamp in the corner.

"More," she demanded, resuming her previous position.

"Yes ma'am." He applied his lips to her neck, having discovered that that spot seemed to be a particularly sensitive one for her, and his hand delved between her thighs again, pleased to find that – as he had suspected – she was already plump and wet.

"You know, I used to do a lot of tutoring in med school, but I don't remember it ever being quite this…moist."

She ignored his wisecrack, her hands raked up and down his chest, the scratch of her fingernails telling him when he found exactly the right spot and rhythm. He knew she'd missed out that afternoon and he knew there was still more to come that night, so he was happy to let this be quick and all about getting her off. He used his other hand to slip a couple of fingers inside her and let her ride them, setting her own pace. He took his mouth from her for a moment to watch and couldn't deny that it was an incredibly arousing sight watching her astride him, losing herself in the feelings washing over her. He felt a stab of anger at her previous boyfriend. How could anyone have let this bundle of sexual energy go to waste? Or worse – make her think that she wasn't one of the sexiest women it had ever been his pleasure to bed?

He felt her knees dig into his hips and her thigh muscles tighten. Her breath hitched and her fingers dug into his shoulders, little cries coming from her as if she was frightened of letting them out, unable to take the last step that would launch her over the edge.

He leant into her ear, sucking on her earlobe briefly before whispering to her. "Come for me, Jen. You look so hot, your body's so tight and wet. I want to hear you come. Don't hold it in."

"Oh! God, Greg, yes…I'm gonna come…you're making me…ah!"

She shuddered and threw her head back, arching her body into his hands as she bucked with the convulsions wracking her body.

"Ah…ah…ah…stop, no stop, I can't…"

He stopped rubbing against her once she became too sensitive and she fell forward on to him, collapsing against his chest, accidentally twisting his wrist so that he had to pull his fingers out of her abruptly.

Her head rested on his shoulder, breathing in gasps, her body still shuddering intermittently as the final waves of pleasure subsided.

"Good girl," he whispered to her, stroking his hands over her back.

"Oh, I don't know how you do that," she said, still breathless, "but I want you to keep doing it."

He grinned, wondering if he'd ever get sick of hearing her praise his skills as a lover.

He'd have given anything to have wrapped her arms and legs around him, risen from the sofa and carried her into the bedroom, but he knew there was no way he could. The thought made him angry, briefly, but he decided to brush it away, not wanting it to spoil the delights ahead.

"Shall we move into the bedroom? That was only first course. There's more to come."

"There's _you_ to come." She giggled, thrusting her hips in an unnecessary reminder to him that his erection was still pressed between their bodies.

"Ha ha. You're hilarious. And correct. Come on, move." He slapped her butt.

They made their way up the corridor pausing halfway to kiss again, House surprised by his need to have his hands on her at all times and the fact that the distance between the sofa and the bed was too long between kisses.

Once they reached the bed, he lay down and Jen tentatively put her hand around him, squeezing and pulling gently, leaning in for yet another deep kiss. He let her go for a while before pulling her hands away.

"Ah, thanks but no more, I have other plans for that."

"Really?" she asked, her voice low and throaty. She sat up and took off her bra, the final piece of clothing between them, bringing one of his hands to grasp one breast and leaning over to lower the other to his mouth. He was definitely a breast man, and hers had to be some of the finest he'd ever seen, so it was no difficulty to comply with her wishes.

He suckled hard on the nipple she offered, pinching and gently twisting the other between his fingers, delighting in the gasp he provoked. He switched his attentions between both her breasts, using his mouth and fingers, his other hand snaking downward to cup her ass as she leaned over him.

"I don't know what's got into you Jennifer Edwards, but I like it," he said. "So far you're looking at a very positive report card." She didn't know it yet, but despite the lack of experience she was a natural; sexy, sensual, and if she managed to overcome those insecurities about her body he'd bet she'd be an uninhibited firecracker in bed.

She flushed at his comment, looking almost embarrassed, but he pulled her body down again until he could kiss her wetly, erasing her mind of any such thoughts. As she moved down his body she arched her back, rubbing her wet centre against him. He thought she was going to push down onto him, but instead she pushed against him, back and forward, his shaft between her lips. And from the look on her face, it felt very good indeed.

He let her use him for her pleasure until he couldn't bear the pressure building inside him anymore. Besides, she'd already had a turn, and while he was happy to give her another one, he needed this first.

"Ah, I can't wait any longer, Jen, I want to be inside you."

She nodded and moved off him far enough to let him reach for a condom in the bedside table and sheath himself, kissing and nipping his back, neck, shoulders, whatever skin was available to her.

"I want to eat you alive," she murmured.

He chuckled. "Later, my little sexpot, I might just let you do that. Flip over."

She lay back and he positioned himself between her thighs, his hands on her thighs encouraging her to spread as wide as she could. Last time he'd gone gently, knowing it had been a while since she'd last had sex and wanting her to be comfortable. This time he didn't think he could manage it.

He positioned at her entrance and then sank into her in one smooth thrust, both of them gasping out loud at the sensation. He gave her a moment, letting her body adjust, then began moving, knowing that he would have liked to make it last a long time – but it probably wasn't going to. Especially not when she raised her knees and locked her ankles around his back, allowing him even deeper reach into her.

He looked down to where their bodies merged, lifting his torso higher so he could clearly see himself pumping into her and emerging again, wet and glistening. The sight was intoxicating and he couldn't help pulling almost all the way out and plunging back in again over and over, thinking his cock had never looked longer or more powerful. It suddenly occurred to him – for the first time in his life – exactly how intimate it was to have sex with someone. Another person let him inside their body, their most precious and personal possession. Jen was letting him do it now, and they were connected, in the most primal and profound way they could be.

He looked up and saw she had followed his gaze, her eyes filled with wonder and lust, watching as he possessed her. Each time he left her body she drew in a breath – anticipation? loss? he didn't know – and when he pushed into her again she made a little noise in the back of her throat, a whimper of pure pleasure. He liked the fact that she was getting off on the sight as much as he was.

Suddenly she looked up and met his eyes and he felt that same sensation he'd felt back in the bar when he'd first met her. A sense that he could lose himself in her eyes, that there was something _important_ there, something he needed to know. She smiled and he couldn't help smiling back, sure he looked completely goofy, but he held her gaze as he continued to move.

Jen's eyes didn't waver from his and when they filled with tears he should have been surprised or even irritated but he wasn't. Without wanting to examine it too closely, he had a sense he understood. She blinked and one tear rolled down the side of her face. He leaned down and licked its salty trail, kissing her temple and pressing his lips lightly to her eyelashes.

"Greg, oh Greg," she whispered like a mantra, so quietly he almost didn't hear.

He could feel the pressure building in his balls, knew that he wanted to bury himself even deeper inside. He lifted his body up again, hooking one hand behind her right thigh, pushing her knee up to her chest. She groaned as he sank deeper but at that point, even if she was uncomfortable, he knew he couldn't stop.

A few more thrusts and he'd be there…and then suddenly he was. He felt as if his spine might break with the intensity of his orgasm, ripped from him in jagged, wretched gasps.

"Christ, Jen!"

He collapsed on her and then rolled off, trying to bring his breathing under control, feeling as if he'd run a marathon.

"Shhh, you're alright." She wrapped her arms around him and her voice whispered comforting nonsense into his ear.

"God you are going to be the death of me," he said eventually, still breathing heavily. "Or the saviour. At this point I'm not really sure which."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Another chapter for you to celebrate the milestone of 100 reviews! Thank you so much! And this one is for those of you who wanted it hotter. I hope I've delivered...

* * *

--

How had she gone from 'sex with you scares the crap out of me' to wanton sex goddess? Turned on beyond her wildest fantasies by his explicit suggestions and by watching him plunge into her body over and over.

Just thinking about it again made her feel light-headed.

She turned in bed to look at him in the morning light. They'd both fallen asleep quickly and she couldn't remember a more peaceful night's sleep. She closed her eyes again to doze and was woken when he leaned over and licked her face from jaw to eye.

"Ew! Greg! That's gross." She wiped his saliva from her face with a grimace.

"I was just lying here thinking how delicious you looked and I had to do a taste test," he said mock-defensively.

She shook her head at his childishness. "I need to take a shower. I feel…sticky."

He laughed and she knew it was because he was the main reason she felt that way.

He surprised her further when he crept into the shower with her.

"Just thought I'd better do quality control," he said, grabbing the bottle of body wash from her.

"You know, I have been washing myself for quite some time," Jen said with a smile.

"Ah, but that's just when you fall into bad habits. Turn around."

She rolled her eyes, but did as he asked, backing up slightly to bring her body closer to him. He brought his hands around and began soaping her breasts, massaging them all over and then drawing his fingertips over her nipples, pinching and gently twisting until they stood firm. She leaned her head back against his shoulder with a small groan.

"Is that nice?"

"Mmm, nice."

Keeping one hand on her breast, the other stroked soap down over her belly, across her hip and down to her mound. His fingers began tangling in her curls, the liquid soap foaming. His hands pushed her back into him and she felt his cock pressing hard and hot between her cheeks, bringing all sorts of vague, dark, hidden desires to mind which maybe, one day, she'd be brave enough to share with him.

He continued to explore her with his fingers, his mouth nibbling down her neck. She reached one hand up to cup his face and the other around to squeeze his ass, pulling him tighter to her.

"You really are delicious," he murmured in her ear. He manoeuvred her closer to the spray, rinsing the suds from her body. "But I need to taste you properly."

Jen shivered at his words, knowing what he meant. No one had ever done that to her before. She'd read about it, laughed along with friends when they talked about it, but had never actually experienced it.

The shower had a shelf at his hip height, a couple of tiles deep, designed to hold shampoo bottles and the like. Greg moved around to her front and pushed her gently against the wall.

"Hoist yourself up."

Jen did as he asked. The shelf wasn't quite deep enough to be comfortable, and the tiles were cold, but if she jammed her feet on the edge of the bath beneath her it was enough to keep her balance.

"This is convenient," she said lightly.

"Yeah, I had it built like that for just this reason."

"Really?" As soon as she asked Jen knew she had to be more careful about that dry wit of his.

He chuckled. "Yeah, really."

He put his hands on her knees and spread them wide, stepping between them to kiss her wetly. His hands returned to her breasts, seemingly unable to keep away from them and his mouth soon followed, taking a nipple between his lips to bite it gently and then suck hard.

He pulled away and looked up to her eyes. "Jen, there are women sitting in front of cosmetic surgeons all around the country because they want to get perfect breasts just like these."

She laughed a little and blushed, not sure if she could take his compliment as genuine. Matt had always told her that her breasts were too big, out of proportion to her body. That's why she generally hid them and felt uncomfortable in revealing necklines.

"I don't think so," she said.

"Perfect," he repeated and then bent to take her other nipple between his lips. He suckled hard again and Jen could feel the pull through her body, as if it was somehow connecting directly with her clit. She groaned and he looked up and smiled wickedly.

He put his hands on either side of her on the shelf and took a step back, his eyes roaming over her breasts, down her belly and lower. She saw the glint as he looked between her spread legs, obviously pleased by whatever he saw there.

Jen had never before felt so naked and exposed. Her instinct was to cover up, to close her legs and wrap her arms around her torso; run away from his intense gaze. But the heat of his eyes was almost like a physical touch, and her want for him to go further, to do more, warred with her desire to hide. She imagined what it might feel like to have his tongue _there_, and her breath caught.

"Please," she whispered, the word leaving her mouth without her consciously having planned to say it.

He quirked his eyebrows in response and leaned down to flick his tongue over each nipple. The light, teasing touch was no where near enough but when Jen heard the frustrated moan she was surprised to discover it had come from her.

"All right, all right, I'm getting there," he said in mock complaint. He bent his head lower, trailing kisses over her belly and down further.

At first he pressed his lips against her, kissing her firmly from the top of her mound to her entrance. There he paused and his tongue slipped out, pushing inside her a little way.

"Oh." Jen had imagined it, but nothing had prepared her for how it would really feel, how intimate and wet and hot and delicious.

His tongue flickered upwards, parting her, stroking through her folds until he reached her clit. He didn't touch it directly, licking either side first, and then running a little circle around it.

He repeated the pattern, lowering his head to dip inside her then running up again to trace circles around her aching need. He did it again and again and she thought she might die with anticipation but, just as she thought she might go out of her mind, he fastened his lips exactly around her clit and pulled her into his mouth with a light suck.

Jen felt like all the air had suddenly left her body and she gasped to draw breath, pressing her head back into the tiled wall.

She stroked her hands down his arms and felt the cords of his muscles straining, the veins on his forearms visible with effort. It was difficult to surface from the almost drugged, erotic stupor she'd descended into as he continued to suck on her, but something nagged at her and she finally realised what it was.

"Stop," she said, putting one hand down to his jaw to pull his head up. "This is hurting you."

He looked up at her, a myriad emotions crossing his face: embarrassment, irritation, frustration, anger.

"I want to do this for you," he said stubbornly.

"I…" Jen knew it wouldn't work to express sympathy or understanding. "I want your cock inside me," she said instead, hoping her forwardness would distract him from what his leg was preventing him from doing.

She pulled on his arm until he stood straight with a grunt of pain she could see he'd tried to hold in. Despite the pain he was still hard as a rock and she wrapped her hand around him, stroking firmly, pausing every couple of strokes to run her thumb over his head, smearing the moisture that gathered there over him.

He groaned and closed his eyes, one arm going up to press on the wall near her head for balance as he leaned in toward her.

Jen kept stroking him, pulling him closer to her, positioning him at her entrance.

"Do it," she encouraged, kissing his ear and sucking on his earlobe the way he did to her. "Fuck me."

He kissed her as he sank inside her and Jen could taste herself in his mouth. She thought it should be off-putting, but for some reason it actually made her hotter, and her tongue plunged into his mouth, seeking more taste, more sensation.

His groan vibrated through her and he rammed her against the tiled wall hard, pushing the breath out of her.

"Jen," he growled, as the hand that wasn't supporting him went to her breast, squeezing and gripping her hard.

Jen grabbed his ass cheeks in her hands, pulling him into her even tighter. She loved how he always said her name, leaving her in no doubt that it was she who was giving him such pleasure.

"Yes, Greg…oh…you feel so good." Her words were broken by his fierce thrusting, and Jen watched him closely, seeing as he neared the point of losing it. His eyes closed and his face tightened, straining as he reached his climax.

She felt him pulsing inside her as he came, pausing at the top of each thrust as he shot, groaning loudly each time.

"God! Uh! Uh!"

His arm collapsed and he leant into her with his full weight, his head buried in her shoulder. He breathed heavily for a few moments before he pushed off her, his now softened member slipping from her.

"When did the water go cold?" he asked, still breathless.

"A little while ago." She shivered, more from the loss of his heat than the chill of the water.

"Come on." He tugged on her hand and turned off the taps, pulling her back into the bedroom without pausing to dry off. He grabbed one of his pills and swallowed it, falling back onto the bed and pulling her with him.

Jen started to cuddle into him, preparing for a nap.

"Hang on, I haven't finished yet." He pushed against her shoulder to lie her flat on the bed. "Or, more importantly, _you_ haven't finished yet."

He grabbed a pillow and indicated for her to lift her hips, pushing it under her. Then he moved down the bed and without further preamble, spread her knees, positioned himself between her legs, and ran his tongue the length of her slit in one hard, long lick.

Instantly Jen was back on the brink, totally aroused and ready for more.

"Do what you did before," she begged.

"Oh, giving orders now are we?" he joked.

"It was so good, that thing you did…"

"This thing?" He did it, fastened his lips around her clit and sucked.

"Oh God, yes, that." Jen buried her hands in his hair, wanting to hold him there, wanting him to never move.

He alternated between flicking her with his tongue and sucking on her and Jen pressed her head back into the pillows, sighing with pleasure.

When she felt his fingers probe her entrance she gasped and then moaned aloud as he lifted his head to push two slick fingers inside her.

"Is that good too?"

"Yes," she said breathlessly.

"You're so hot and wet. I think you can take more." He added a third finger and fucked her gently with his hand.

His long fingers reached deep inside her and Jen groaned as he pressed against what she now knew was her g-spot with each thrust of his hand.

When he lowered his head and resumed sucking on her, Jen thought she might just lose her mind from the sensations overwhelming her.

"Oh, Greg, so good…"

He kept up the rhythmic push of his hand and began to suck and lick harder and faster. Jen felt a tingle run from the base of her spine and spread through her body, over her bottom and through her belly. The tingle turned into jolts of electricity, sparked from her clit, shooting through her pelvis, convulsing all her muscles in a current that he pulsed with his mouth, drawing out her orgasm until she felt like it would never end.

She arched her back, pushing herself into his mouth, crying out as she peaked, unable to stop herself gasping over and over as the pleasure went on, feeling herself clench around his fingers as if her body was trying to draw him deeper inside.

Eventually she felt the pleasure subside, the force of the contractions weaken, her body retract, and her hips collapsed back on the pillow underneath them.

"That looked like fun," he said quietly, murmuring against her inner thigh, his fingers still gently moving in and out as she came down to earth and fought to catch her breath.

Eventually, sense returned. She'd never felt so complete and so drained all at the same time. And she still couldn't believe that this was her, Jennifer Edwards, having orgasms like they only did in movies.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, his head resting on her leg looking up at her with an expression that told her he was entirely pleased with himself. She loved that bringing her pleasure clearly gave him satisfaction too.

He smiled and then pulled his fingers from her. He stared at them for a moment and frowned before wiping them on the sheet. Jen was slightly horrified.

"I hope you're going to change these sheets…" Jen stopped herself there. She'd been about to add "…before I come over again". Their whole time together Jen had been careful not to misinterpret any of his comments as indication that there might be more to this than the weekend. When he'd made a crack about giving her skin time to adjust to his beard she'd almost wanted to snare him on the spot, to insist on knowing if he was going to give her time to do just that.

"Are you on the pill?" he asked abruptly.

She gave him a puzzled look. Before she could answer he explained, "I…ah…got a bit carried away."

"What do you mean?"

"No condom in the shower."

"Oh." She hadn't even thought about it.

"I'm guessing with your history you're fine STD-wise?" He got up from where he was lying, pulled the pillow from under hips and tossed it back up the bed, coming up to lie next to her.

"Yes." Jen was trying hard to take the conversation as a mature adult and realise that this was a normal, standard enquiry from any casual-sex partner.

_Ugh, casual sex._ Two words she'd thought would never apply to her.

"I got tested after Matt's…indiscretion."

He snorted at her euphemism.

"Well I get tested regularly as part of a work thing, so there's no worries there. Pill?" he repeated. "Because if not I can write you a prescription for…"

His matter-of-fact tone rankled with Jen, but she couldn't quite pinpoint why. It wasn't as if she _wanted_ to get pregnant. "Yes, I'm on the pill."

He nodded and visibly relaxed.

Seeing as they were already having a difficult conversation, Jen decided to take the plunge with the topic that had been worrying at the back of her mind all weekend.

"Last night. Do you do that a lot?"

"What? Ravish a beautiful woman?" he joked, but Jen knew he knew exactly what she meant. She shrugged off the compliment and realised that the past twenty-four hours had blurred together in one long day-night of sex and sleep.

"No, I meant Friday night. You were more than a little bit drunk. Do you do that regularly?"

He took in a breath and for a while she thought she might have offended him. But then he spoke.

"I drink regularly. I don't get drunk regularly. Occasionally." He paused and appeared lost in thought. "Does it happen more than it should?" he eventually asked himself aloud. "Probably."

"So is there something that sets it off? Stress?"

"No…I don't know…maybe…" His voice had lost its usual certain confidence and she was surprised at the difference it made.

"I just…I guess I was worried about you."

"Well you don't need to be." His voice changed again. This time he sounded angry. But who with, Jen wasn't sure. "I'm a big boy. I can look after myself. And if what you're here for is to rescue me or turn me into your version of a good person then you'd better leave now."

Jen was taken aback by the bitterness in his tone. She was the queen of taking on blame and guilt for things that weren't really her fault, but this time she was sure that his reaction was nothing to do with her, nothing to do with the concern she'd expressed. She wondered what had happened to him, in his life, that had caused such automatic caustic relation to someone looking out for him.

"I'm sure you can look after yourself. That's not what I meant." Jen said calmly. She was suddenly aware that the months of working with the kids had taught her a lot – more than she realised. She'd seen how some of the more experienced workers dealt with the inevitable tantrums and frustrations of kids as they re-learnt speech skills and staying calm in response was an important part of it. And his reaction reminded her of nothing so much as a child's tantrum. "I just wondered if you'd had a bad day."

He sighed and reached a hand over to her, stroking her side and coming to rest on her hip. Jen decided it was his version of an apology.

"I don't want this to sound like I've been watching too much ER or something, but was it about a patient dying?"

He laughed, a dark, bitter laugh that sent chills down Jen's spine.

"No. Nothing like that. Actually the patient I had on Friday was improving so much I could afford to leave and go get drunk."

Jen cringed, half-wishing she hadn't asked. But now that she had…

"So was it just a typical Friday? Or did something happen?"

He paused for so long she thought he wasn't going to answer. Finally he spoke, so quietly Jen had to strain to hear him in the silent room.

"It was nothing specific. Just a general 'it sucks to be me' kind of day. My best friend…" he trailed off and Jen realised she knew nothing about this "best friend" but she knew better than to interrupt. She waited for him until he eventually kept talking. "And then I saw you. With that geek."

Jen nodded, trying not to let her amazement show. _He'd been jealous?_ She couldn't have been more surprised.

"He really was a geek," she said, keeping her tone light. His hand came to life on her hip, caressing her gently.

"Why were you talking to him?"

Jen took a deep breath and decided to plunge right in.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Because I'm an idiot."

She smiled and snuggled into his shoulder. "Sounds about right."

* * *

--

Wilson knocked on House's door and was surprised when it wasn't opened right away. Both his car and bike were parked outside and it was late enough in the day that even House should be out of bed.

He knocked again and was startled to hear a woman's voice inside. He cringed.

_Oh no, I've interrupted him with a hooker._

Wilson knew his friend had a predilection for paid help of that kind, but it had never confronted him in reality before.

He clearly heard House's voice call from somewhere inside the apartment.

"If it's the Mormons, tell them I'll be out shortly to save their souls."

There was a giggle and the door opened. Wilson had to do a double take at the short, blonde woman in front of him, who in jeans and an over-size pastel sweater, was _definitely not_ a hooker.

"Uh, is House here?"

"Oh, um…" She looked just as taken aback to see him. "Yeah, he's…"

Just then House appeared, still in pyjamas, looking more relaxed and refreshed than Wilson had seen him in a long time. Maybe ever.

"Right, well," Wilson was flustered. "Sorry to interrupt. Amber and I just went to the movies so while we were out I thought I'd return the DVDs you loaned to me." He held out a small plastic bag which House grabbed from him.

"Thanks. Wilson, you remember Jen?" Wilson couldn't miss the fact that House put a hand on Jen's back as he introduced her. A possessive, affectionate gesture. Wilson's eyebrows raised.

"Oh, James, right?" Jen said, her eyes lighting up with recognition. She offered her hand to shake. "We met in the bar a few weeks ago."

"Yes, of course, Jen." Wilson recovered, shaking her hand and trying to remember more of the conversation he'd had with House a couple of weeks ago. She was a philosophy professor or something. Someone House said he wasn't going to see again. Ha! Sprung!

"Wanna come in?" House asked, his tone clearly indicating that he'd prefer if Wilson didn't.

"No, I can't…" Wilson still felt off-balance, as if some fundamental truth about the world had suddenly been discovered to be false. He shook his head to clear it. "Sorry, Amber's in the car, so I'd better…"

House snorted rudely. "Yeah, off you go."

Wilson sighed. He couldn't win. "I'll see you tomorrow then. Lunch?"

House shrugged.

Wilson took that as a yes. "Okay, well enjoy the rest of your Sunday." He turned to Jen. "Nice to see you again Jen. Hope we catch up soon."

She smiled at him and Wilson remembered why he'd pointed her out in the bar in the first place. She was pretty.

Outside, Wilson climbed back in the car and turned to Amber.

"You'll never guess what. House has a _girlfriend_."

* * *

--

Greg's phone rang around four, just as Jen was wondering when he'd tell her to go. She knew she had to leave anyway, there were things she had to do to get organised for the work week ahead, but she was leaving it to the absolute last minute. But so far there'd been no sign he was in a hurry to get rid of her.

"Ignore it."

She nodded and went back to her book. Both of them were spent from the weekend's activities, they were lying together on the sofa; some hockey game on TV that he was watching and Jen reading a book on ancient Egypt she had picked out of his book shelf.

His cell phone rang a few moments later and he swore under his breath. He picked it up from the side table and answered it.

"House." He paused while the other person spoke at length. "And why would I be interested in a cardiac arrest in a forty-year old?" His tone dripped with sarcasm and condescension.

Jen had no idea who the call was from but she suddenly knew their weekend had come to an end. Whether it was the alert pose he took as he listened, or some other cue, she didn't know but whatever it was, this call was the universe's way of intervening.

"Right. Uh-huh. I'll be there in thirty minutes."

He ended the call without saying goodbye and Jen felt vaguely sorry for whoever it was on the other end of the line who had to call him in on a Sunday.

He turned and gave her a thin smile.

"You have to go – work," she said.

"Yeah."

"Oh well." She couldn't for the life of her think of what more to say.

"You don't have to leave straight away. I mean, I don't know when I'll be back, so you'll probably want to go home, but you can hang around for a bit, get your things together, you know…"

He'd already risen and was heading to the bedroom to dress properly. The flannel PJ bottoms and t-shirt he was wearing were probably inappropriate attire for a doctor, she thought, although he looked so relaxed and sexy, she was certain she wouldn't have minded if he'd turned up looking like that at her bedside.

"No, it's okay, I should probably get going anyway. I've got to get myself organised for the week anyway, and it's getting late."

He'd already disappeared into the bedroom and Jen wasn't even sure if he'd heard her. She'd barely brought anything with her other than a toothbrush and change of underwear, so it took less than five minutes for her to gather up her things and put them into her bag.

They both walked out the door at the same time. Outside, he loaded his backpack onto a motorcycle – another thing she didn't know about him.

"I'll call you," he said, putting the key in the ignition and turning back to her.

"Uh-huh." Jen was so proud of her calm demeanour. If how she was really feeling could ever be known, she was sure she'd be in line for an Oscar.

He put one hand up to her cheek.

"No, really, I will."

She nodded. "That'd be nice."

* * *

--

Sarah was sitting on the sofa watching a medical drama on TV when her sister got home. She'd eventually kicked out the guy from Friday night on Sunday morning; he'd been nice in bed but a bit of a loser over all. But it had, as Jen had encouraged, got her back on the horse.

"Hi, there's pizza if you're hungry," Sarah said.

"Thanks." Jen sat down on the sofa next to her, tucking her feet underneath her and grabbing a pillow to hug.

By the next ad break, Sarah realised that Jen had been completely silent.

"What's up?" she turned to her sister. "Did you have more fun? More fantastic sex?" she teased.

She couldn't have been more startled when a couple of fat tears rolled down Jen's face.

"Oh my God, Jen, are you okay? What happened? Did he hurt you?" Sarah moved over to pull her sister into a hug. "If he hurt you…" she started threateningly.

"No…nothing like that…" Jen said, sniffing. "In a way it's worse."

She gave Sarah a watery smile.

"I think I'm falling in love with him."


	11. Chapter 11

House ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He'd been at the hospital for more than 72 hours straight and was still no closer to a solution. He'd been sure – positive! – that it was an infection, but no matter how many antibiotics they pumped into his system the guy just kept getting worse, one organ system failing after another. At this rate, he had less than 24 hours to solve things or this guy's two little moppet daughters were only going to remember their father from photo albums.

In a fit of desperation he'd gone down to the patient's room, standing, staring at the guy's pale face and the monitors proclaiming his dwindling life signs – like advertisements of House's failure.

"Are you Doctor House?"

An attractive, brunette woman in her late thirties entered the room. The wife, he thought, great, just what he'd been wanting to avoid.

"Yes. Just checking his status." He picked up the chart from the end of the bed to give him a reason for just standing in the room staring – he imagined that the wife would view that as somewhat suspicious.

"Please, is he going to be okay?"

The tears welling in her eyes and the pleading tone were not what he needed.

"We're doing everything we can." It wasn't like him, but he settled for the vague platitude to give him thinking space, hoping she'd take the hint and shut up, give him some silence to think.

"Gary and I met in college you know."

_Like he cared._

"We've got two beautiful girls now and he was just made manager at work."

_Yeah, so? _They'd already ruled out workplace toxins.

"I just don't know what I'd do without him," she continued, oblivious to his clear disinterest. "We're not just husband and wife. He's my best friend too."

He'd often heard couples say that, but never really believed it. It hadn't been like that with Stacy. They were sexual partners, that bit had always worked fine, but they each sought their friendships elsewhere. He would never have described her as his best friend.

The wife took a seat next to her husband's bed, clutching his hand in hers, obviously no longer caring that House was in the room.

"He's my best friend," she repeated to the room at large, "my husband and my children's father."

"But not your lover?" House asked, putting down the chart, his interest piqued.

She turned, startled.

"What do you mean? Of course he's my lover!" She was clearly insulted by the inference.

"It's just that when people do that list it's always best friend, husband, blah, blah, blah and lover. You missed that one."

She flushed with indignation. "I don't know what you mean! He's been a bit stressed lately, but he was always a gentle, thoughtful, caring lover."

Something in her tone made him pause. "_Was_ gentle? But not recently?"

"We still have sex just as often as we always did." She looked away, giving House just the answer he needed. "His job is very stressful," she said finally.

"Well the good news is that your husband doesn't have an infection, but the bad news is that he has a brain tumour."

"What?" The wife clasped her hands to her chest in horror.

"I'll have someone come and take him for a CT to confirm."

Proud of himself, House turned and left the room.

His team were still huddled in the conference room where he'd left them, pouring over the patient's history and file notes.

"Someone go CT his brain." House announced as he walked back into the room.

"Don't be ridiculous. We have already scanned his entire body. And is brain is the one organ that's actually still working." Thirteen was the first to pour cold water on his diagnosis, as per usual.

"Ah, but I just got the inside running from the almost-widow," House said with a wink. "Their sex life hasn't been all wine and roses recently."

"But erectile dysfunction is more likely vascular," Taub interjected. "And that goes with the heart attack. Maybe we should…"

"Oh you young people," House waggled his finger at them, interrupting. "Always thinking the love is about the hokey pokey. What about the seduction? The romance? The wife says there's no problems with lift-off."

The four people sitting around the conference table stared at him with frank astonishment.

"Romance? House, what on earth are you talking about?" Foreman finally intervened.

"His personality has changed," House explained with a 'duh' tone in his voice, disappointed that he'd actually had to spell it out. "Go CT his brain, and look really, really carefully for a microtumor – or two, or three. And let's all hope that the wife hasn't secretly been enjoying the new rough and tumble."

Foreman gave him a sideways look but then shrugged.

"Okay people, let's do as the man says."

As the team left to do his bidding House's thoughts turned to his own sex life. It had been three days since he'd seen Jen, but she'd never been far from his mind. Although he'd been absorbed by the case, she'd kept popping into his thoughts. And last night, when he'd caught a couple of hours' sleep on the sofa in his office he'd almost embarrassed himself when Kutner had woken him to give an update on the patient's condition. He'd only just nodded off and was immersed in a half-dream, half-memory from the weekend, so when the warm hand pressed on his shoulder he'd been sure it was Jen's. Thankfully he'd bitten off groaning her name just in time.

And now that he was feeling so pleased with himself, so full of his own importance, she was who he wanted to see. Wanted to be with. Wanted to show her his importance, up close and personal.

"Shit." He swore under his breath as he checked his watch. He'd promised he'd call her. And he'd really meant to, as soon as he had a break, but he just hadn't had the chance. Now it was late on Wednesday night – she'd probably be in bed. And leaving it to call on Wednesday? Wednesday was when you called if you were vaguely keen. If you really cared, you called Monday. Especially if you were dealing with a girl like Jen. By now she'd probably decided he'd booty-called her for the weekend. Some repayment for her scraping his stupid drunken ass out of that bar.

Without waiting for confirmation from the team – so completely sure he was right – House packed up his things, turned off his computer and before he knew it, was on his bike headed for Jen's place.

His knock on the door was answered by Sarah, who stared at him with unconcealed dislike.

"Jen's in bed."

"I know, it's late…" House said apologetically, suddenly feeling like a teenager confronted by his date's parents, disapproving and reluctant to let him inside. He mentally reminded himself that he was at least fifteen years older than this woman and had no reason to shirk from her.

"So can I come in?"

Sarah shrugged, but opened the door wider and turned and went back to watching TV on the sofa. It wasn't the warmest welcome he'd ever had, but at least she hadn't closed the door in his face.

He walked into Jen's room and she was sleeping on her side, her hair spread over the pillow, her cheeks lightly flushed. He undressed as quietly as he could and crawled into bed beside her, hoping he wouldn't startle her. Pressing against her back gently, he swept her hair from the pillow and lay down behind her.

Inevitably, she woke and twisted around to look at him through half-lidded, sleepy eyes. He instantly had a moment of doubt – was this a good idea? Would she give him a hard time for not calling? Think it was unforgivably presumptuous of him? Was it too much to hope that she would understand that this was what his life was like?

Then she smiled. "Is everyone all better now?" she asked sleepily.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "Yes, all better."

"Good." She cuddled into him, resting her head into the crook of his shoulder as he wrapped one arm around her.

The idea he had about showing off, telling her all about his success faded. He was still horny as hell, but the exhaustion of three days almost non-stop working was also making itself felt. More than anything he felt comfortable and content as he glanced down at her small hand lying on his chest over his heart.

Suddenly he stiffened. Coming over here for a post-diagnosis-high, get-your-rocks-off shag was one thing, but this was something different. Comfortable? Content? These were not words in the Greg House adjective list.

"Sleep," she mumbled, patting him lightly on the chest having obviously felt his change in mood.

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. Yeah, sleep.

* * *

--

_The next day_

Cuddy looked up as Wilson walked into her office, a pile of papers in his hands.

"Here, these are the board papers that needed to be signed. I think that's everyone except you." He handed them across to her and she looked over the cover sheet nodding.

"Thanks, appreciate you following that up for me."

"No problem."

She expected him to leave, so when he sat down instead, she stared at him.

"What's up?"

"House has a woman in his life."

Cuddy blinked. "Really?"

"Yep, pretty sure. I went over on the weekend and she was there."

"A real live, actual woman?" She didn't mean to sound so surprised.

"Yes and I'm pretty sure this one was there of her own accord. Not as part of a financial agreement."

Cuddy grimaced, she didn't need to know stuff like that.

"What was she like?"

Wilson hesitated. "Not what you'd expect. Pretty, but…"

"But?"

"I don't know. Kind of frumpy."

"Frumpy?" Cuddy couldn't imagine it. House had very particular taste in women and frumpy was not on his menu.

"No, well, that's probably a bit mean, just…short. And a bit…" he held out his hands to indicate size.

"Oh. Well, I'm sure she's…" Cuddy had no idea what to say. She had no idea why any woman would want to _be_ with House. Go to bed with House? Sure. She got that. _But be with him_? No…

Wilson's face suddenly lit up.

"You should make him come to the fundraiser on Friday and bring her. Then you could check her out yourself."

"No. That's mean. To me and to her. I'd have to put up with him complaining for a start and he'd want something in return."

"Just swap him some clinic hours."

Cuddy eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you so keen to see her?"

Wilson looked uncomfortable. "I'm not. I just thought it would be interesting…"

"Why don't you just invite them on a double date with you and Amber?" Cuddy asked mischievously.

Wilson shuddered. "Oh…no…Can you imagine?"

Cuddy chuckled. She had no idea what House's woman might be like, but she couldn't imagine anyone enjoying socialising with House, Wilson and Amber.

"What's her name?"

"Jen."

Cuddy sat back in her chair. It might just be fun to watch. And she had to admit, she was intrigued. The first woman to snare House since Stacy. She'd like to see that.

* * *

--

House looked up from his computer screen as Cuddy strode purposefully into his office.

"House. Friday night's fundraiser. You will be attending." Her tone brooked no argument.

"No, I will not be." His tone was just as firm.

"You will be if you wish to continue working in this hospital. All heads of department are expected to attend hospital fundraisers and you have not been to any this year. In fact you have not been to any since we held the casino night, and that has been brought to the attention of the board. So, unless you want to front up at the next board meeting and explain why your busy social life has kept you unavailable every Friday night for the past two years, you will be there."

"Cuddy…" he whined.

"Look House," she dropped her voice to a more pleading tone. "Just turn up, have a drink, say hello to a couple of people and leave. It's not hard."

"And what's in it for me?"

"Your job."

He sighed, the heavy sigh of the martyr.

Cuddy decided to leave before the conversation got into the bargaining stage as it normally would at this point.

"Wear a tux and be there on time." She turned and walked out of the office, pausing at the doorway. "And bring Jen."

She didn't see the daggers look House shot at her back as she left.

* * *

--

"Hi." As soon as Jen saw who the caller was, she'd motioned to one of the other coaches that she'd take the phone outside. Standing in the corridor with the noisy classroom behind her, she couldn't help smiling and her fingers fluttering around her neck as she answered.

She'd left him in her bed that morning, sound asleep, obviously seriously exhausted by his work over the previous three days. She had hoped he'd call, but wasn't sure if he'd be back at work, busy again.

"You at work?" she asked.

"Yeah, briefly, then I'm going home for more sleep." He still sounded tired.

"That's why I let you sleep this morning, you seemed exhausted." It felt like a really intimate conversation, something couples would discuss.

"Mmm, I didn't get much rest over the past few days."

"No I guess not." He was silent and Jen was at a loss for what to say. All she wanted out of the call was to know when she'd see him again, but she felt like she couldn't ask. That was something he had to do.

The silence stretched until finally he cleared his throat. "How's your day going?"

Small talk? Not what Jen expected. But she'd play along. "Fine. Busy day today with back-to-back sessions. And it's mostly writing coaching today which is what I like the best."

"Oh good."

"You?" Jen asked and then cringed. He'd already told her he was going home.

He ignored her question. "Are you busy tomorrow night?"

_Yes! I'm going out with you! _Jen stopped herself from doing a dance of celebration at his question and took a deep breath, trying to ensure she sounded calm and not too desperately eager.

"Friday? Yeah, I think I'm free."

"Well, there's this thing. A hospital fundraiser thing. I don't want to go, but I have to. I thought maybe we could turn up and be there long enough for me to placate my boss and then we could go do something else."

"Oh, okay, that could be fun."

"It's one of those black-tie things. At the ballroom at the Hilton."

"Oh." Jen's smile faded as she mentally flicked through her wardrobe. Nothing. She had nothing to wear. But at least he'd mentioned it. So many men would forget that detail and then wonder why women turned up wearing jeans.

"I can pick you up, though."

"That'd be nice. Probably in the car, though, not sure I could do evening wear on a motorbike."

He laughed softly. "Oh, I don't know. You'd have to hitch your dress up and wrap your bare thighs around me. That has something to recommend it."

Jen drew in a breath, instantaneously aroused. A comment sprung to mind and she bit it back, wondering if she was brave enough to say it to him. But then she reminded herself that she was now wanton-sex-goddess Jen, not check-out-a-new-library-book Jen.

She looked around to make sure no one could overhear and whispered into the phone. "You just made my nipples go hard saying that."

He chuckled, low and sexy. "I look forward to doing that in person tomorrow night."

Jen took a deep breath, trying to remind herself that she was at work and that she needed to go back to teaching a twelve-year old sentence structure in a minute.

"Okay, what time should I be ready?"

"It starts at seven. So I'll pick you up at eight."

"What?" Jen was confused.

"I've been told to be there and be on time. I'll do one, but not the other."

"Right." This man had serious problems with authority. "Well, see you then. Sleep well."

"Thanks."

He hung up without saying goodbye, but based on previous phone conversations she'd observed, she figured that was his standard procedure.

She stared at the phone for a while and then dialled her sister.

"Sarah? Is your shop open late tonight? I need your help."


	12. Chapter 12

_Friday night_

Jen stood staring at herself in the mirror, feeling as if she might just throw up.

She had had to arrange to leave work early because it had taken more than four hours to get ready. After spending ages in Sarah's store the night before choosing a dress, Sarah had then called in favours from all around the mall, getting Jen booked in for hair, make-up, manicure and pedicure for Friday afternoon. And now here she was, waiting for a knock on the door at any minute.

Her hair was up, but in a messy, tousled, just-got-out-of-bed kind of way, with tendrils framing her face. The make-up artist had done an amazing job using a huge number of pots and creams and colours to make it look like Jen had no make-up on at all – that she was just naturally blessed with porcelain skin, smoky eyes and plump dusky-pink lips.

Jen still wasn't sure about the dress. But when other customers in the store joined in with Sarah's pleas for her to buy it, she'd given in. Somewhere between powder blue and electric blue, the dress had a slight shimmer to it and she knew it was corny but the colour had reminded her of his eyes. It had a corset-style bustier top which pushed her breasts into prominence and a long draped skirt. It gave her a classic hour-glass figure, the boning in the top even taming her hated flabby belly. There was no beading or other decoration; the dress was plain, but elegant.

Sarah stared at her in the mirror.

"You know, I can't even describe how gorgeous you look."

Jen smiled weakly at her sister. "I don't know. I think I've gone over the top. He'll get scared off because I'm trying too hard."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "It's black tie! What you're wearing is totally appropriate."

"Oh Sarah…" Jen moaned, turning away from the mirror, clutching at her still-churning stomach. "I don't think I can go. What if…"

"Of course you're going. I did not pull every favour in my book to get you an appointment with Marc to do your hair on a Friday afternoon for you to chicken out now." Sarah lectured. "I was saving that one for myself," she added, more quietly.

"I don't know…" Jen said, still uncertain.

"What?" Sarah demanded, obviously starting to get a little annoyed by Jen's whining.

"Sorry," Jen apologised. "It's just, I know that I'm more into him than he's into me." She tried to sound nonchalant. "I'm a casual sex thing for him."

Sarah sighed. "You guys didn't have sex when he came over on Wednesday night," she pointed out bluntly.

Jen gave her sister a look but Sarah waved it off.

"You and I both know these walls are paper-thin," Sarah said, "so if you had, I would know about it. The point being, guys don't visit for casual sex and then _not have sex_."

Jen started to reply but the doorbell rang.

Sarah gave Jen a stern look. "You look beautiful." She walked out to answer the door and Jen took one last look in the mirror. She took a deep breath, seeing how that made her breasts swell in the corset, and remembered that he thought she had perfect breasts. And he'd said that just before he'd…

"Jen, your date's here!" Sarah called from the living room with a mischievous tone.

Jen walked out and suddenly had a flashback to prom, half expecting her mother and father to appear from somewhere with a camera. When she saw him, in his tux, her breath caught. _Oh. My. God._ She remembered that when he first approached her in the bar she hadn't thought he was that attractive. Whether it was just that she knew him better now, or that he scrubbed up really, really well, he suddenly looked like something that had walked off the pages of GQ.

Jen couldn't meet his eyes, scared of what he might see there.

There was a long silence. "Shall we go?" he said finally.

"Yeah, just let me…I forgot…" Jen turned and rushed back into her bedroom almost hyperventilating.

Sarah followed her, took one look at her and rolled her eyes again. "Calm down."

"I can't…" Jen said. Suddenly the idea of walking in somewhere on his arm, as his date, seemed preposterous. No one would ever believe it – believe they could be a couple. They'd think she'd won a contest or something.

"Of course you can. And if you don't get back out there soon he's going to come get you. He just looked at you like you were dinner."

"What?" Jen realised she hadn't seen that. In her effort to hide her emotions from him, she hadn't thought about what he might be thinking.

"He looked at you like you were dinner – dipped in chocolate." Sarah confirmed. "With sprinkles. And a cherry. Look, he's an asshole for not saying how gorgeous you look, but for some reason you seem to like him. So take a deep breath, remember how beautiful you look, go back out there and let him take you out and have fun."

Jen nodded. It wasn't like she really had a choice. And besides, part of her needed at least one more look at Greg in his suit. She knew she could stand to soak-in looking at him for quite a while before she'd get sick of it.

She gave Sarah a brave smile. "You're right. I can do this."

* * *

--

Cuddy was intensely anxious about the evening ahead. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but somehow she'd let herself be lowered into playing games with House yet again. And she just bet that somehow she'd lose – yet again.

She'd been over and over the seating plan a million times. There'd been no other option. She couldn't trust him on his own on any of the tables. He needed to be supervised by Wilson at least. But as a board member Wilson, and Amber of course, were on her table with the CEO of the hospital's bank and the fundraiser's special guest, a visiting neurologist from London.

So she'd had to sit the guest on one side of her and the CEO and his wife on the other. Wilson was next to them, then Amber, then House, then Jen next to the visiting doctor. She knew the CEO and his wife and that Wilson and Amber were relatively safe company for them. She didn't know the English doctor and she just hoped that Jen was someone who could not only entertain their guest but act as a buffer between him and House if Amber didn't keep House appropriately occupied. And potentially act as a buffer between House and Amber if Wilson didn't take care of it.

It was a huge bet to make on someone she didn't know. Someone House had chosen.

And now it was after eight and House was nowhere to be seen. The English guest doctor had turned out to be just this side of unpleasant; cold, dull and condescending. Cuddy kept up the charm, but her fingernails were pinching into her palms with effort.

She just happened to glance over to the door as House entered. She watched him as he helped the mysterious Jen with her coat. The scene reminded her that Stacy had once told her that House had impeccable manners when it came to things like that – coats, doors, walking on the right side of the street. The result of an old-fashioned mother who'd drilled her son in old-fashioned gentlemanly ways.

Pity that didn't flow through into some other areas of his life, Cuddy thought.

Jen turned around and House put her hand through his arm as they walked towards the table.

Cuddy leant over to Wilson and whispered between clenched teeth.

"I thought you said she was frumpy?"

Wilson gave her a puzzled look and Cuddy motioned with her head towards the approaching couple.

He turned to look, his eyes going wide as he saw them. "Wow…"

* * *

--

She'd managed to be seated without falling over or bumping anything, been introduced to everyone including the sour looking Doctor Milson next to her and taken a long sip of champagne to settle her nerves. All the other women she'd seen were wearing long, formal evening gowns, so Sarah had been correct, her dress was completely appropriate.

So far, so good, Jen told herself.

"Nice to see you again Jen."

"You too James."

She and James Wilson chatted politely across the table about the weather and the evening's entertainment, and his easy conversation helped her relax further.

Putting two-and-two together, she realised that he was probably the "best friend" that Greg had spoken so sadly about on Sunday. She still didn't know what the issue between them was, but she'd bet it was something to do with the tall, willowy, blonde woman sitting next to Greg, and who Greg was completely ignoring. She was beautiful, but something about the set of her mouth made her seem hard and a little cold. Jen wondered what it was that drew her and the warm, friendly Dr Wilson to each other.

She recognised Dr Cuddy from when she'd taken Sarah to the clinic and remembered mistakenly thinking that Greg was her boss. Tonight there was no way she would have made that error. At the table, it was clear that Lisa Cuddy was the leader. The way she directed conversation, watched everyone carefully and still somehow seemed to have an eye for everything else that was going on in the large room clearly showed her to be the one in charge. A quiet sense of authority emanated from her.

Main meals were served and it became impossible to continue talking across the table. Greg leaned into Jen as they started eating, whispering in her ear.

"Did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight?"

She smiled and looked at him from under lowered lashes.

"No, you did not."

"No? Well, it was only because I was lost for words."

"You? Lost for words? I don't believe it." She flirted back.

"True. Cat got my tongue. Or it will. Later. My tongue and your p…"

Jen coughed on her mouthful of chicken, and grabbed a glass of champagne, taking a large gulp to be sure she didn't choke.

She looked around the table. No one seemed to have noticed until she locked eyes with the frowning Dr Cuddy. She instantly felt like a naughty child caught out by the headmistress and could feel the blush stealing up her cheeks.

"I've told you before, you have to chew your food," Greg said in a louder tone, patting her back and making Jen's blush even hotter.

At his comment, Dr Cuddy's expression softened. In fact, Jen was sure she could see sympathy in the woman's eyes. Sympathy, curiosity and…no, it couldn't be…_jealousy?_

"So, Jen, are you a doctor?" Dr Milson asked.

"No, I…"

Greg reached one arm over the back of her chair and leant across her.

"Actually she is."

"Oh really? What speciality?"

Jen frowned at Greg. She'd deliberately decided to leave her qualifications at home for the night, knowing that her title would just prove confusing in a room full of MDs.

"I'm a PhD," she said, "not an MD."

"Oh." Dr Milson was dismissive. She might have just as well told him she was unemployed.

"Yes a PhD," Greg continued, his voice rising. "While Dr Milson here has made his name with fraudulent studies into brain aneurysms. Go on Dr Milson, tell us all about your latest protocol that only proves you have too many research assistants and not enough ideas."

There was a collective gasp from around the table, and Jen belatedly became aware that despite relaxed appearances, everyone had been subtly keeping one ear out for Greg.

"Ah, Dr House. I wondered when that famous wit of yours might make an appearance," Dr Milson replied, looking down his nose. "I heard that one of your patients finally got up the nerve to shoot you and I was sure that would have put at least a slight dent in your massive ego. I see not."

Jen's mind spun. Shot? That was news to her. And Greg's rudeness was painful, but Dr Milson's response made her want to jump to his defence.

She looked over to Dr Cuddy who had put one hand up to her head, as if her worst fears had come true. The bank CEO whose name she'd forgotten looked frankly amused by the exchange; James looked tired, as if he'd spent too long fighting the inevitable.

She gave James a look and nodded imperceptibly in Greg's direction, then turned to the now evil-looking Dr Milson and smiled brightly.

"So, Dr Milson, is that a hint of a Staffordshire accent I hear?"

He gave her a startled look. "Yes, I grew up in Stoke-on-Trent." He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "Most Americans can't pick English accents."

"I spent a year at Oxford and I travelled a lot while I was there. I loved the countryside around there. Particularly the Cotswolds."

His alert, fight pose seemed to relax. "Yes, it's beautiful there. Did you ever go to Cirencester?"

"Well, look at this, we seem to have run out of champagne." Jen heard James' announce. "House, come help me at the bar."

She didn't take her attention from Dr Milson but couldn't miss the warm hand that grabbed her thigh. The fingers crept upwards until they were as high as they could get with the tablecloth still obscuring them. They pushed between her legs as much as her skirt would allow and squeezed.

"Yes, I stayed in a little cottage in Cirencester near the…_river_," her voice jumped when his fingers pressed into her, but recovered, "during summer."

"Oh. I have a country cottage near there. Well, I say _cottage_, but it's more of an estate."

"Pompous English git," Greg said under his breath, but not that quietly.

Dr Milson frowned, obviously assuming he had been insulted but without actually having heard what had been said. Jen smiled brightly again and turned briefly to Greg. "Yes Greg, Pommery would be lovely, thank you."

He gave a low chuckle before she felt his hand leave her leg and he rose from the table to follow James.

It felt like hours, but it had probably been only about thirty minutes when Cuddy finally interrupted to let Dr Milson know he was about to be introduced for his guest presentation. Jen couldn't have been more relieved. She loved talking about her time in England, but she disliked the arrogant and condescending attitude from the visiting doctor and she hoped that Greg would want to leave as soon as was polite.

Up on stage, Dr Cuddy made a few introductory remarks and then introduced the special guest. As she listened to the lengthy introduction, Jen realised that with a list of qualifications and achievements that long, perhaps Dr Milson had reason to feel superior.

She sat back and felt Greg's arm snake along the top of her chair and his hand rest lightly on her shoulder. Without thinking about it, she bent her head to brush her cheek against his hand, and he lifted one finger to stroke her in response. She looked up to see James' astonished gaze, but when she met his eyes he seemed embarrassed and quickly looked away.

"Thank you Doctor Cuddy." Through the microphone, Dr Milson's English accent sounded commanding and authoritative. "It's a pleasure to be here to help raise funds for the neurology department at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. As I've just been telling the delightful Mrs House…"

There was a ripple of low laughter and murmurings through the audience and quite a few people twisted around to look at Jen.

Obviously not sure what he'd said to provoke such a reaction, Dr Milson paused with a brief puzzled look, but then continued.

"…as I've just been telling Mrs House, at my home in the countryside we are blessed with a large garden. It was when I was in the garden one day with one of my sons…"

His story continued, explaining at length how he'd been inspired by an ant colony in the garden to reach a new conclusion about blood flow in the brain. Jen was sure that if you were a doctor it was an interesting speech and, despite being a difficult conversation partner, Dr Milson was a good speaker. But she found herself unable to concentrate.

She could still hear the booming title of "Mrs House" echoing in her mind. Why had people laughed? Her first response had been to feel hideously embarrassed when people turned to look at her. But then she realised that the response wasn't about her at all. It was about Greg. For some reason, his work colleagues found the idea that he could be married not only amusing but somehow shocking.

Having turned to face the stage for the speeches, Greg was behind her, so she hadn't seen his face. All she'd been able to do was sit still and freeze on her smile.

"Time to go?" He leant forward and whispered in her ear. It wasn't really a question.

"Can we?" Jen whispered back. "Would it be rude to walk out in the middle of his speech?"

"Do you really care?"

Jen twisted her head around to look at him. His eyes sparkled with mischief.

Jen shrugged. "No."

Greg rose and offered her a hand to help her from her seat. Jen smiled at James and Amber who both frowned back at her.

"Good night," she said quietly.

They got to the back of the room and Greg got their coats from the coat check, helping Jen with hers. Just as they were about to open the large doors to leave, Greg turned around and yelled at the top of his voice.

"She has a PhD, so she's a doctor, not a Mrs, you idiot."

Jen's jaw dropped, Dr Milson froze, and the entire room of hundreds of people fell silent.

Smiling and nodding to himself as if exceptionally pleased with the response, Greg put a hand on her elbow and steered them both out of the room.

* * *

--

House kept walking until they were well away from the ballroom doors, standing in the almost deserted lobby area. He was still feeling pleased with his response to the insane Dr Milson. But now he had to face the music. Apologise to Jen for the insult of being mistaken for his wife. And defend what he'd just done, even though he was convinced the arrogant git had deserved it.

He squared his shoulders and turned to Jen who was still looking dumb-struck, her mouth open, eyes glazed.

"You'll catch flies," he said, reaching over to chuck her chin gently closed.

Her eyes focused and looked at him and suddenly she started giggling. Uncontrollably.

"Oh, God, so funny," she gasped, her eyes starting to tear with laughter. Every time she started to get it under control she'd look at him and then start laughing again.

He started to chuckle himself, her laughter infectious.

"It wasn't _that_ funny," he protested.

She bent over, clasping her stomach, still cackling.

"Come here." He lead her over to a low bench seat and helped her sit down.

Tears were streaming down her face as she laughed and laughed; House finally joining her, unable to resist. She looked at him through eyes sparkling with laughter tears.

"You are so _naughty_."

She giggled again, her laughter set off – by what? He didn't know – but each time she looked at him she lost herself in more gales of laughter that started to look almost painful.

"Oh God, I'm going to pee my pants. Wait here."

She disappeared quickly, running off in the direction of the bathrooms. When she returned she seemed to have brought herself under control and fixed the smears of make-up under her eyes. She still giggled a little when she saw him and sat down next to him again.

House was astonished by her response, so totally the opposite of what he was expecting. And when he watched her walk back towards him he was struck by how beautiful she was, how much he enjoyed watching her laugh. Struck by the elegant Jen who'd easily handled the rude and obnoxious Dr Milson and the giggly little-girl Jen who'd almost peed herself laughing at him.

He looked at her, smiling at her still barely controlled laugher. "You are a strange woman, _Dr_ House." He repeated Milson's insult but used her correct title.

She gave him a puzzled look in response, when he'd expected her to laugh again. Not sure what to do about it he impulsively kissed her, meaning it to be a light peck, but once his lips touched hers his body had other ideas. Obviously, so did hers, because he'd no sooner touched the tip of his tongue to her bottom lip than her mouth opened to him and their tongues slid against each other.

After a long while he reluctantly pulled away, knowing that if he let it continue it would lead them somewhere dangerous – in his mind a stall in the bathrooms where they could be discovered by another hospital employee at any minute. Just the idea of it was desperately exciting.

Taking one look at Jen he knew he could get her to do just about anything at that moment. Her mouth was red, her cheeks flushed and she was breathing heavily. And in that dress…he suddenly and viscerally understood the term "heaving bosom", her breasts amply displayed as she tried to get her breathing under control.

His brain flashed through a number of other possibilities. Cab home, fast. Book a room? They were in a hotel after all.

Jen smiled at him as if she could read his thoughts. "So, what do we do now?"

"Just what I was thinking," he said. "What do you want to do?"

Jen grabbed his wrist and pushed up his shirt cuff to take a look at his watch. "It's still early. Seems a shame to get all dressed up and not make the most of it."

_Damn_.

She must have read the disappointment on his face. She put one hand on his cheek and sought his eyes.

"It'll build the anticipation," she explained. "Just looking at you in that suit is doing all kinds of things to me. I'd like to have a little more of that before I take it off you."

He couldn't help one side of his mouth tweaking up at her knowledgeable tone.

"Hey, I thought I was the teacher," he said with mock complaint.

"Oh, you definitely are."

She stood and held one hand out to him.

"I think I'd like to see some music. And drink some whisky. How does that sound?"

_How did that sound?_ He shook his head.

"Jesus, Jen. You might just be the perfect woman. I'm gonna have to be careful you don't get me hooked."


	13. Chapter 13

Greg took her to a dark, dingy bar with no windows and low lighting. It wasn't a groovy nightclub kind of place like the one she'd taken him to the first night they met, more a place where people went with a purpose – and that purpose was to drink, a lot. They looked surreal in that environment in their evening finery, but no one seemed to care much.

Jen was surprised when the bartender greeted Greg by name.

"Hey, Doc House. Good to see you. What's with the penguin suit?"

"Work thing," Greg said gruffly.

"Usual?"

"Times two. Put some water in hers." Greg nodded towards her and the bartender gave Jen a surprised look before pouring two shots of Lagavulin.

"You want a slot tonight?" he asked Greg as he topped up Jen's drink.

Jen frowned, wondering what that meant.

"Nah…maybe…dunno right now. I'll let you know later."

"Sure."

Jen grabbed their drinks and Greg led her to the end of the bar, to a small table tucked away in a corner. It had a clear view to a small stage which held a grand piano, currently concealed by a dust cover, a chair and an acoustic guitar which someone was obviously about to play.

"You a regular here?" Jen asked, putting the drinks down before taking a seat next to Greg.

"Kind of. I play sometimes when they have an open mic night."

_Ah, that's what the bartender meant._ Jen felt a little flicker of excitement that she might get to see him perform. She'd seen the piano at his place, of course, but they'd never discussed it.

"Piano?"

"Mostly."

There was a guitar at his home as well, and Jen was amazed that he not only played two instruments, but played them well enough to perform in public.

"I brought you here because Glen's on tonight. He plays guitar and he's amazing."

Jen nodded and took a sip of her drink.

"It feels weird to be in a place like this in a dress like this," she said.

"You look beautiful." He didn't turn to look at her as he said it, instead watching as the guy on stage tuned his guitar and then began to play with an intense concentration.

"I wasn't fishing," she protested.

"I know." He still didn't look at her.

"Well, thanks. I'd love to see you play."

"Maybe." His tone was dismissive.

"Well, if not here, then maybe at home?"

He shrugged.

Jen smiled weakly and looked away, taking another drink, trying to ignore the fact that her hand was shaking slightly. It had been a bizarre night. And he was confusing the hell out of her. Jokes about being married, followed by comments about not wanting to get hooked. Right now he seemed so disinterested in her. His hot-and-cold running feelings were tough to deal with.

And through it all, an undercurrent –or _over-_current – of sexual innuendo. She had to stick with her original understanding. He was in it for the sex. She was the one that had made it more than that. So she was the one that needed to keep her feelings reigned in. If she wanted to keep it going, keep him around a bit longer, she had to keep it light.

As if he'd read her mind, he turned to her and winked. "I can think of better things to play at home."

She smiled at the surge of heat his glance sent shooting through her body. At least she didn't have to hide her feelings about _that_ side of things. That would be impossible.

"Really?" she asked quietly, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. She watched as he followed it with his eyes and then leaned in to kiss her quickly, just a brief touch of his mouth, grasping her pouting lower lip between his and then pulling away again. A kiss that promised more.

He settled back with his drink watching intently as the guitarist began to sing along to the melodic strumming of the guitar.

They were silent for the first couple of songs. Greg was right, the guy could really play and he had a nice, soft voice too.

"Did you enjoy the dinner tonight?" Greg asked her after a while.

She looked at him.

"Is that a serious question?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"I just didn't think you would really care whether or not I enjoyed dinner."

He frowned, obviously not expecting her to question him back.

"I just wondered if you liked…the people at the table."

"Ah." _Hmmm, tricky._ What did he expect her to say? What did he want to hear? "Well, I think you and I both know what I thought of Doctor Milson."

He chuckled again, obviously still amused by his own outburst.

"Don't start laughing again," she warned. "I'm easily set off."

"Don't I know it," he said suggestively, his hand finding her knee under the table. Jen caught a little gasp as his fingers moved the silky fabric of her dress over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

"I think your boss is a bit scary," she continued, trying to ignore his fingers' progress up her leg.

"Little Lisa Cuddy scary? Nah."

"Well, I think _you're_ a little scary, so you two probably work well together."

"Really? Me? Scary?" He pulled a silly scary face and Jen giggled.

"At work, sure."

He nodded and shrugged. "Yeah, you're right."

"I don't think James likes me."

"Why do you say that?" His hand stopped moving and she could tell she had his full attention.

"Oh, he was polite and everything. It was more subtle. He kept watching us. Giving me strange looks. I wasn't sure…"

"Nah, he's just jealous because he picked you."

"What?" Jen was astonished. Had there been a competition between them over her? Surely not. And why did he sound so pleased with himself about James being jealous?

"That night in the bar. He picked you out. Said you'd be right for me. It was an experiment."

"Experiment?" Suddenly Jen didn't feel light-hearted any more. She put her hand over his on her leg and pulled it away. "What sort of experiment?"

He looked both annoyed and a little anxious, as if he regretted saying anything. "Don't get upset. It was just…" he sighed as if trying to work out how to explain. "Wilson has a girlfriend."

"Amber."

"Yes, Amber. And he has three ex-wives."

"Really?" Jen was amazed. Sure, James was handsome, but three divorces? She wondered what could have happened to cause three divorces. Not to mention three weddings. And he was so young!

"Uh-huh. Three."

"Wow."

"And Amber is really different to his ex-wives."

"In what way?"

"Just a completely different…type of person."

"He and Amber are really close, aren't they?" When Jen first sat down at the table that night she was curious about what could have drawn the warm James to the cold Amber. But as dinner had gone on she'd seen they looks they'd shared, the discreet touches; they were obviously a couple very much in love.

"Yes…" Greg sighed and his eyes got a faraway look that Jen couldn't decipher.

"So, experiment?" she prompted, still feeling a little sick about what it might mean.

"So I was saying that Wilson had a woman who was different to the usual type of woman he was attracted to. And I wondered if that might work for me."

"So you looked around the bar for someone who was different to your usual type of woman," Jen filled in the rest, ignoring the quieter tone Greg had adopted. Ignoring the hesitancy in his voice. "And James pointed me out."

"Yep. Exactly."

Jen released a breath. It wasn't as bad as she thought it might have been, but there was still something a bit humiliating about having been chosen because she was exactly the opposite of the woman he'd normally find attractive.

"So your normal type is what? Tall, skinny, brunette?"

"No, blonde, I always liked blonde." He reached over and twisted one of her loose tendrils of hair around his finger.

She flinched. So she had been chosen because she was short and fat.

Suddenly her dress felt too tight and she was overwhelmed by feeling out of place and out of her comfort zone. She was hurt, embarrassed and disappointed that he'd ruined their night out.

"I think I'll go now." Jen bent to pick up her purse and began to pull her coat from the chair.

"What?" He looked confused and annoyed. "Jen, don't do this." He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from rising.

"Do what?"

"Get huffy."

"Huffy?" Now she was angry. "You think you can just play with me like that?"

"I'm not playing with you. I mean, I am, but not how you mean."

"What?" she asked sharply.

He rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. She could see him mouth the word "women" as he did.

"You should be glad I decided to experiment."

Jen sucked in a breath, astonished at his lack of understanding. "You don't get it at all, do you?"

He grabbed her chin and forced her face close to his. "Jen, if Wilson and I hadn't had that conversation, you and I wouldn't be sitting here right now. We wouldn't have just had dinner together. We wouldn't have had the amazing sex that we've had. I wouldn't have had your pretty mouth all over me. You wouldn't have had me buried so deep inside you it took your breath away."

He paused a moment. "I, for one, am pretty grateful for taking a chance on the 'experiment'," he said finally.

He kissed her and Jen tried really, really hard not to kiss him back. He clearly still didn't get why she was upset. But his lips worked on hers gently, not letting up until she sighed and in doing so parted her lips. Then the kiss heated up until Jen couldn't think straight. She knew she shouldn't be forgiving him this easily. There was still so much that wasn't right between them. And she still didn't really know where she stood. But when he was around, when he kissed her, her brain just…stopped functioning.

There was a cough and they pulled apart to see the bartender at their table holding the bottle of Lagavulin. Jen felt flushed and dishevelled; Greg looked…perfect. Calm, together and unflappable. Right then she hated him. Just a bit.

"What's up Dave?" Greg asked.

"Top up?" the bartender asked and started to pour without waiting for an answer. "Just wanted to check if you wanted that spot. Glen's about to finish so you can go next if you want."

"Oh…uh…"

Greg looked at Jen. She looked away, her emotions still roiling, not caring what decision he made.

"Nah, I think I'd better be getting home."

The bartender chuckled. "Yeah, looked that way to me, too."

* * *

--

When they got home he kissed her, tenderly, as if he was finally admitting he'd hurt her feelings. He just wouldn't be saying it out loud. Jen realised she was probably going to have to accept that.

"Ouch." She jerked back when he tried to push his fingers through her hair and snagged on one of the many pins holding it all in place.

"Sorry. But I want to run my fingers through your hair. How would I go about doing that?" He gave her a goofy grin.

She smiled. He was impossible to stay angry with. "Actually, I'm going to need your help with that." She took his hand and went into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror. She reached up and pulled out one of the bobby pins that Marc had used.

"See these? Take out as many as you can find."

"Right." He frowned and adopted a look of concentration as he searched through her hair and pulled out pins. She worked on the pins at the front, but as she watched him, she slowly stopped and let him continue. His expression was priceless and she couldn't help but smile as she watched him focus on the task at hand. Of course, he noticed.

"What?"

"You look as if you're doing brain surgery. Not finding hair pins."

He grunted, but kept going, his expression the same. "I feel like a chimpanzee, grooming a mate."

"Is that a hint? Do I need to wax?" She was teasing, but he looked up sharply, obviously concerned that he might have said the wrong thing. Again.

He rolled his eyes and smiled when he met her grin in the mirror.

"Death of me, I'm sure of it," he said under his breath.

After a couple of minutes' work, he ran his fingers through her hair few times, from roots to ends, making sure there were no pins left.

"All gone. Geez, how many did you need?" He looked at the considerable pile of pins he'd amassed next to the sink.

"Yeah, Marc did go a bit overboard. But I told him I needed it to last all night."

"Marc, hey? This someone I should be jealous of?"

There he went again. Comments like that, that made it seem like he cared. Cared about more than the sex. He was so hard to understand.

"Not unless you want to sleep with George Clooney too," Jen answered lightly.

Their eyes met in the mirror and Jen watched as he leant down and pressed his lips to her neck. His eyes didn't leave hers as his tongue flicked out to taste her collarbone and his hand came around to cup her breast over the fabric of her corset top while the other tangled in her hair.

Jen was instantly aroused, and wished that they weren't in the bathroom and, bizarrely, that the mirror was longer. Not that she'd possibly make love in front of a mirror, that would be hideous, but watching him touch her like this was very, very nice.

"I wish I had a full-length mirror," he mumbled. "Well, I do, but it's on the inside of the closet door. Not quite suitable for what you have in mind."

"How do you know what I have in mind?" she asked cheekily, covering the fact that she was actually a little startled by how close he was to what she was thinking.

"Oh, I know."

He leaned back and started fiddling with the buttons on the back of her corset. "God, these are annoying. And there are a million of them."

Jen twisted around. "Take me into the bedroom and I'll show you a secret."

"Secret huh?"

Once they were in the bedroom Jen showed him the cleverly hidden zipper that negated the need to undo any of the buttons. He smiled, pleased, but before he could do anything with it, Jen pressed her hands to his chest, pushing out to his shoulders to pull his tuxedo jacket apart.

"You first," she said.

She took her time removing each item of his clothing, including his cufflinks and special dress-shirt button things that she'd never seen before.

When he was standing in black silky boxers, his shirt open with his undone bow tie hanging around his neck, Jen stepped back to survey her work.

"Oh, wow."

"What?" He looked embarrassed.

"You're just…phew," Jen sighed. "Beautiful."

"Beautiful?" He was clearly uncomfortable. "I don't think that's the word you're supposed to use."

"Well, it's the right one."

She was surprised and touched to see him squirm at her words. He put his hand up to take off his shirt and she pounced on him.

"No! Leave it!"

"Leave it on?" He raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, leave it on."

"Okay." He shook his head as if he didn't quite understand what was going on. "You, on the other hand. Lovely dress. Now take it off," he commanded.

Jen went to turn off the lights before undressing.

"No. Lights on. You got to see me, now I get to see you."

"Greg…" Jen pleaded, knowing she'd be incredibly uncomfortable if all the lights were on.

"Why? Why can they be on for me, but not for you? You know I've seen it all before anyway." He lowered his voice. "And I do mean _all_."

"Well, you're gorgeous. And your body's almost perfect. Mine's not," she said bluntly, even though he was right – after that time in his shower, there was barely an inch of her skin that he hadn't seen. But this time she knew that the boning in the corset top was going to have left red marks over her torso and she was wearing control-top pantyhose that she'd really like the chance to take off without him watching.

"You call this perfect?" He took her hand and put it on his scarred thigh.

When she heard the bitterness in his voice Jen realised she had no reasonable argument and suddenly felt guilty about being shy about a little extra weight when his leg was a permanent disfigurement. "I know, but…"

"But what?" he asked.

Regardless, she still didn't want all the lights on. "I've got these pantyhose on…" she whined.

He looked up at the ceiling and Jen caught her breath, wondering if he was about to lose his temper. Then he laughed. "All right. I hate pantyhose. _One_ lamp. Okay?"

"Okay."

While he adjusted the lighting, Jen quickly hitched up her skirt and dragged off the tights.

Having been shown the hidden zip, he made short work of getting her out of her skirt and bustier and then they were on the bed, kissing. Jen loved feeling his chest under her hands and the fact that he was still half-dressed was a real turn-on.

Instinctively, Jen knew that unlike the other times they'd made love, this time wouldn't be long and drawn out. His hand rubbed between her legs impatiently, and hers sought his shaft, pulling down his boxers to stroke and pull on him.

"Jen," he whispered as his head buried into her shoulder, arching his back into her pumping hand. "I can go commando, right? Pill, yeah?"

"Yes, yes." Jen didn't even want that small barrier between them.

He pushed her lacy thong down her legs and Jen sat up to take it off all the way.

"I want you to…" he started.

"What?"

Instead of explaining further he showed her instead, pulling one of her legs over him. Jen soon worked out that he wanted her straddling him. She didn't feel entirely comfortable, but then realised it would give her a perfect view of him – lying beneath her in his open shirt and tie. The soft light from the bedside lamp was kind, and he'd seen her pouchy belly before anyway. It didn't take much for the part of her brain that really wanted to do it to talk her into it.

She sat over him on her knees and then reached down and grasped his shaft, moving him against her core, coating him in her juices and then using the slippery head to stroke her clit until she heard him groan with impatience. Smiling at his urgent need, she positioned him at her entrance and lowered herself onto him inch by inch, wanting at least one thing to happen slowly.

Once she had him fully inside her, Jen paused. She had forgotten how that position made a man's penis feel huge. He wasn't freakishly enormous, but certainly bigger than Matt, and sitting on top of him made her gasp.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes…just…you feel so big like this."

"Excellent." He sounded pleased with himself, but then gave her a concerned look. "Does it hurt?"

"No, no," Jen shook her head, it didn't hurt, she just felt so _full_. "It's…I just need to…"

Together they began to move and that did it for Jen, that was what she needed in order to adjust, and suddenly the fullness at the top of every stroke was one of the most pleasurable sensations she could imagine. It felt like he was so far inside her she could barely breathe, just like he'd described in the bar.

He pushed his thumb against her clit as she rode him, thrusting up to meet her body, and Jen could feel her muscles begin to tighten. She angled herself so he stroked inside her in just the right way and it took barely any time before she felt the shudders begin, her eyes closing and her head thrown back.

"Oh Greg, I'm coming…"

He kept up the thrusts and the pressure on her clit as she rode out her orgasm, right up to when she put her hand over his to stop him when she got too sensitive. She continued to move on him in a gentle rocking movement, lost in the pleasure of him inside her, trapped by the little aftershocks of her orgasm, until he reminded her of his presence.

"Jen," his voice sounded strangled. "I'm nearly there…"

She came back to earth and opened her eyes, seeing the twist of almost-pain on his face as he sought his peak. He put his hands on her hips, holding her in place so he could thrust into her in his own rhythm, and Jen pushed his shirt aside so her hands were on his bare chest for balance.

She flexed one hand, dug her fingernails in and scraped across his chest leaving long red marks trailing behind. She didn't know where the words came from but she was talking to him, encouraging him, her voice low, sexy and so aroused.

"Greg, yes, come inside me. You feel so good, so big."

He shuddered. "Oh, Jen, I love it when you say things like that."

Jen didn't need further encouragement. "Come on Greg, fill me up. I love the way you fuck me. I want to feel your come in me."

Her words did it, she saw and felt the moment that he lost control, his face contorted, his cock pulsing inside of her. And if she'd thought he was beautiful earlier…well…Jen had to swallow hard to contain her emotions.

He fell back, gasping, and Jen made sure to follow him with her hips, not wanting him to leave her body yet. She lay down, pressing her breasts to him, lying her head on his chest where she could feel his heart thudding. He wrapped his arms around her.

They lay like that for a while until he softened and slipped out of her. He turned, rolling her over without taking his arms from around her, and they lay side-by-side, wrapped together, his shirt tangled around them, tie lost somewhere in the bed. She could feel the light hair of his chest pressed against her cheek as one of his large hands cradled her head, and his chin rested on the top of her forehead. He was holding her to him, tight, and Jen couldn't help the ache in her heart in response.

"Greg…" she took a deep breath.

God she was tired. She'd been nauseous with anxiety, hysterical with laughter, fuming with rage and shuddering in ecstasy – all in one night. She had a sneaking suspicion that spending time with him would often be that exhilarating – and exhausting. And now she was about to push him even further. Would it ruin everything? Maybe. But she knew she wouldn't rest unless she could get things off her mind.

"Greg, is this just about sex for you?"

He stiffened, Jen could feel the instant tension in his body.

He took a deep breath. "Jen, do we have to…?"

"I'm sorry Greg. I know I shouldn't ask. I know I should just leave things, but I can't, I…" she trailed off.

"I'm…" he paused. "I'm really bad at relationships, Jen."

"I don't care. I mean, I care, I just…" She sighed. "I don't want promises and I don't want guarantees. I guess I just want to know if I mean more to you than sex. If it's about more than that. Everything else can wait, if I know there's more to it than that."

His arms around her tightened imperceptibly.

"Yeah, it's about more than that."

Jen nodded, suddenly flooded by immense relief. It wasn't exactly a declaration of love, but it was an indication of something more, something to build from. It meant she could relax in his arms – knowing she'd feel them around her again soon.

* * *

--

On Saturday morning Jen dressed and called a cab. They'd slept together like limpets, holding each other and touching throughout the night. But in the morning, something told her that she needed to give him space. He was someone obviously used to spending a certain amount of time alone, and he had had a very stressful week. She actually didn't mind leaving – kissing him thoroughly as he lay in bed before she walked out – after his admission the previous night she didn't feel so desperate anymore, no longer so anxious about leaving in case she never saw him again.

In the cab in her evening dress she looked out at the Saturday morning shoppers and felt very decadent, but the night she'd had and the man she'd been with just made her smile a secret smile to herself.

At home she took a shower and had a short nap and then busied herself around the house, cleaning, doing laundry, cooking herself something nice for dinner and sitting down to watch the family movie on TV. Sarah had been working all day and came home briefly to change and then headed out for a night with the girls, and to be honest, Jen was happy to have the place to herself.

Just as she was relaxing back into the sofa cushions with a glass of chardonnay there was a knock at the door.

"Did you forget your keys?" she called as she rose to answer it, expecting it to be Sarah.

She was pretty sure her heart actually skipped a beat when she opened the door and saw him standing there. So stunned to see him, she just stood, looking at him with a gaping mouth.

At her response he looked down and shuffled his feet. He seemed suddenly nervous. "Don't make me look like an ass for doing this."

"No, of course not. Come in."

He walked in holding a bottle of whisky.

"I just cooked, there's enough for two. Would you like some?" Jen offered.

"Sounds good." He settled on her sofa and opened the plastic seal around the top of the whisky bottle. "And a glass." He was instantly back to his normal self, giving out orders and acting like he owned the place.

Jen smiled to herself as she headed into the kitchen to check the pot in the oven and get him a glass.

_Well, well. Miracles did happen after all. _


	14. Chapter 14

_Thursday night poker, a couple of weeks later_

Wilson had an excellent hand – a straight flush – but he was doing his level best not to let it show. It was down to him, House, and House's dry cleaner, and it had been a long time since Wilson had lasted that long in a game.

Wilson kept his cards closely hidden as he reached into the bowl on the table for more nachos. For once House actually had snacks on hand to go with the beer, and not just a packet of chips bought at a gas station on the way home. There were pretzels, nachos that House had reheated in the microwave, dips and some crunchy Italian-style bread. He wondered absently if House had called caterers.

House's accountant was definitely unimpressed about having folded early. He got up and wandered around the apartment, talking loudly as if determined to disrupt the game.

"Man, you've been holding out on me!" he suddenly exclaimed.

"What?" Wilson could tell House was annoyed, he wanted to focus on his cards.

"You've got a new hooker!" The accountant used his middle finger to pick up what was obviously a black lacy thong from a lamp in the far corner. "Does this one strip? I mean, Candy is good and all, but she doesn't strip."

Wilson was intrigued and repelled in equal measure. _House shared hookers with his accountant? Ugh._

Whether his concealment skills were already taxed by the poker game or for some other reason, House's discomfort was obvious. His expression stayed calm, but other little cues gave away that he obviously wished the item had remained unfound.

"Give it here." House said firmly and held out a hand. The accountant reluctantly handed him the underwear and House quickly stuffed it into his jeans pocket.

"So, she strips? She must be hot. Can I have her number?"

Wilson could almost see the rise in House's blood pressure from across the table.

"Are we here to play poker or what?" Wilson interjected. "Save the hooker talk for later, I'm about to win."

The accountant grumbled under his breath and sat down on the sofa heavily.

Wilson just ducked his head to hide his smile when House gave him a grateful glance.

Later, when Wilson won almost five hundred dollars in that round, he made a mental note to thank Jen. He was sure her underwear had given him the advantage.

* * *

--

"How about we try that new French restaurant that just opened," Jen suggested. It was Saturday evening and they'd spent the previous night and most of the day in bed. She was keen to do something active. Well, something active that wasn't sex.

"Let's just order pizza and watch a movie," Greg countered.

Jen sighed. He never wanted to go out. He'd taken her to that Italian restaurant when she'd asked him to a few weeks ago, but since then, apart from the fundraiser, they'd never been on another date. Either Jen cooked or they ordered take-out. And that wasn't good for her waistline – or her bank balance, because she insisted on taking it in turns to pay and he didn't object. He didn't seem to realise that as a glorified teacher's aid, her salary was only just enough to manage on – especially when she was still paying off college loans. She had no idea how much he earned, but she'd bet it was multiples of the number she saw on her own pay check.

"Okay, but then can we go out tomorrow? I'd really like to see that new Impressionists exhibition at the gallery."

"Maybe." Greg shrugged and she knew immediately it wouldn't happen. It wasn't that she minded the intimacy they'd created by spending so much time alone together, it was more…she craved some sunlight, some fresh air. She guessed she could go for a walk in the morning, but that would mean leaving him in bed alone… She knew she wouldn't go through with it.

"Want a beer?" he asked, rising from the sofa and heading into the kitchen.

"Yeah, all right. What are we going to watch? Have you got any DVDs?" Then she remembered when Wilson had popped in, that first weekend when he'd invited her to stay over. He'd said he was retuning DVDs and the plastic bag he'd handed over was still sitting undisturbed on the desk. She walked over to it.

"What about those ones you loaned to James? Is there any…" her voice trailed off as she pulled the DVD cases out of the bag.

Greg came out of the kitchen in a rush. "Uh, no, not that ba… Too late."

Jen actually felt a little sick about what she was holding in her hands. "You have porn?" she said, disbelieving. Then the next logical step occurred to her. "You share your porn with your friends?"

"Well, it's expensive." Greg shrugged.

Jen took a deep breath. She'd had very little experience with porn. Knew it existed, of course, but never seen it up close and certainly never watched a movie. She knew that single guys used it, but…

"I kind of understand why you'd have it, I mean you've been single for a while. But why would James want it? He and Amber have been going out for ages."

Greg got a wicked look on his face. "Wilson and Amber like to watch together. In fact apparently Amber was particularly fond of Mistress of Bondage Three." He nodded to one of the cases she was holding. "But then, you'd expect that."

"Ew." Jen decided she really didn't need to know the details of Greg's friends' sex life. And even the fact that Greg knew about it was a bit weird. She hoped to God that he didn't tell James about what they did together.

"We could watch one…" His tone was flirty, but Jen heard the question in his voice. She could tell he wanted to.

"I don't know…" Jen bit her lip. In the past few weeks she'd done and experienced things she'd barely even imagined. Sometimes even her own words and actions felt like there was a different, entirely sexual, being inside of her that only he managed to release. But this? The idea didn't appeal at all.

But given everything that they'd done together it was ridiculous for her to feel that way – wasn't it?

He obviously read the uncertainty on her face. "Look, I'll choose a really tame one and if you don't like it we can turn it off, okay?"

Swallowing hard to overcome her distaste, Jen nodded. "But not until after the food arrives. I don't want the delivery guy seeing or hearing what we're watching."

Greg gave her an incredulous look. "He's the delivery guy! Does it really matter what he thinks?"

"Yes! It does matter!" Jen's voice was louder than she'd planned and her tone seemed to startle him a bit. She wasn't sure herself where the emotion came from, especially as she didn't really care what the delivery guy thought.

"All right, after the pizza arrives," he agreed, taking the DVDs from her. "After we've eaten, okay?" he asked gently. His hand reached out and he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, like she was a small child he was trying to comfort.

As always, she couldn't help the tug she felt around her heart whenever he made some affectionate gesture toward her.

"Okay," she said, her voice small. For some reason she felt like crying.

* * *

--

True to his word, House had chosen something tame. He figured anything S&M or particularly graphic would put Jen off. But he had one movie – one that he didn't actually watch that often – that was pretty straight, entirely hetero sex. It did involve the usual lengthy blowjobs and those up-close gynaecology shots, but with just one couple and a loose plot about exploring sex in every room of their new house. It got into a bit of anal when they were in the bathroom towards the end, but that was as adventurous as it went and he figured he could turn it off by then if she wasn't into it.

He wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected. He had never actually done this with a woman – Stacy had refused point blank. She had let him do what he wanted when she wasn't around, but when she was home, she went nuts if he so much as left a cover lying around.

But Jen was more…accommodating.

Still, he hadn't quite expected her to sit primly on the sofa next to him. She'd squirmed a bit at the first sex scene – very tame, over-the-arm-of-the-sofa sex – but then had just watched quietly. As if it was a documentary or something. Usually if they were watching TV for an extended period of time, he'd rest his feet or his head in her lap, but something about her guarded posture stopped him.

During the third scene – the kitchen, where fruit, vegetables and chocolate sauce were being creatively put to use – he hit the pause button.

"You're not enjoying this."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "It's not bad. Not what I was expecting."

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know. Not this. The food thing is kind of like _Nine and a Half Weeks_, do you remember that movie?"

"No. Come here."

She gave him a puzzled look, but obeyed, shifting across the sofa til she was sitting right next to him.

"What?" she asked.

He didn't answer, instead pulling her head to his, plunging his tongue into her mouth and kissing her until his lungs burned with the need to pull away and take a breath. He wanted her to be the wild, wanton Jen he knew she was capable of, and the fact that she was playing virginal, uptight Jen was highly irritating. And making him as horny as hell. He had no idea why that would be a turn on and he almost wanted to punish her for it.

"It makes you hot, watching this, doesn't it?" she asked him quietly, her voice a little shaky from the kiss.

"This one? No, not really," he admitted truthfully.

"Then where did this come from?" she asked and he felt her hand press against the hard bulge in his jeans.

"Kissing you," he said, leaning in to do it again. She moaned when his tongue slid against hers.

When they pulled apart again, both breathing hard, he couldn't read the expression in her eyes. He was caught again in their depths, remembering how he'd felt there was something important there. This time, sharing her gaze made him feel like he'd forgotten something, like there was something vital that was somehow…missing.

"I guess I liked the first scene," Jen said. She didn't sound too enthusiastic, but her hand was still caressing him gently over his jeans.

"What?" House was confused, he'd completely lost his sense of time and place, absorbed by his esoteric wonderings.

"Over the sofa. Could you do that?"

House was instantly back to Earth and desperately aroused, his cock pressing painfully hard behind his zipper. Somehow, the erotic movie had lit a fuse he'd barely been aware was burning, and at Jen's tentative request he was suddenly at fever pitch. He wondered if he'd even last long enough to get inside her.

"Yes, yes," he said, starting to pull her sweater over her head. "Quick."

"Quick?" She looked surprised.

"Seriously, hurry up or you'll miss out."

He stood and, stumbling only slightly, pulled her around to the side of the sofa, her sweater still not all the way off. She undid her jeans while he fumbled with the button and fly on his own, pushing them and his boxers down to his knees. She was trying to take off her jeans all the way, but he grabbed her hands to stop her. He bent her forward and pulled her pale pink cotton briefs down, pushing her forward with more force than was absolutely necessary as he thrust inside her.

He heard her groan – pain, pleasure, he wasn't sure – and he thrust again, pushing her hard into the arm of the sofa. He could tell she wasn't ready for him, but that made the friction with her body that more intense. He thrust again and knew he was about to lose it, unable to help the rush of sensation rising from his balls and taking over his body. Another thrust and he was coming, unable to help himself from crying out as he pumped inside her.

"Oh, Jen, ah, ah…"

His orgasm was brief but intense and he felt weak and shaky afterward. He pulled out of her and pulled up his boxers and jeans, moving around to flop back onto the sofa, sitting lengthways so he could stretch his leg out on the cushions. He closed his eyes and felt the sofa move as Jen straightened up slowly and then came around to sit next to him. He opened his eyes to find she'd pulled her underwear back into place but kicked her jeans off.

"Sorry," he said, a little embarrassed by his selfish performance.

"That's okay."

That tone in her voice, the forgiveness, grated on him. It was not okay. Stacy would not have let him get away with that. She might have let him do it, but before he'd have been able to draw breath afterwards she'd have grabbed his hand and put it against her, not allowing him to rest until she'd had her pleasure too.

And there he was thinking about Stacy again.

He watched Jen pull the half-removed sweater all the way off and then she twisted around to sit herself back against him, his legs either side of her. His bad leg was pushed back into the sofa cushions – the pressure was firm, but not uncomfortable.

"Is your leg all right?" she asked.

In answer he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tighter to his body. In her pale pink panties and matching bra she looked cute and innocent, and knowing what he'd just done to her, how he'd almost forced her, was enough to make him both ashamed and hard again.

Without saying a word, he trailed one of his hands from around her belly and starting stroking towards her mound. She gasped and House smirked. She might play the naive little girl, but really she was a sex kitten underneath. His fingers crept under her demure briefs and began stroking her folds, now wet and slippery from the residue of his orgasm.

With his other hand he reached for the remote and pressed play.

Jen twisted her head away from the television screen, but he rubbed her in time to the intercourse happening in the movie, and the sounds of the on-screen couple's lovemaking filled the living room. Jen came at the same time as the actress, both of their cries proclaiming their female pleasure to the world.

Jen's sounded a lot like a sob.

* * *

--

It was late on Sunday night when Jen walked in at her home. She'd gathered up her laundry and decided she needed at least one night at home to sleep properly and get some new clothes for the work week ahead. Sarah was in her usual place, on the sofa watching TV.

"Haven't seen you in a while." Jen could hear the slightly accusatory tone in her sister's voice.

"Sorry, I've just been busy and Greg's had long days at work, so we've been having late nights. It's just been easier to stay there." Jen felt herself blush a little, realising what she'd just given away.

Sarah looked away from the TV and gave her a smile. "It's okay. I guess it's hard to drag yourself away from the sexual highlight of your life."

Jen laughed. "Yeah, something like that."

"Come on, sit down. Watch some TV with me so I don't feel too jealous."

"Okay." Jen decided the laundry could wait. Time with her sister was important.

"How was your weekend?" Sarah asked. "And leave out any gory details, please. I didn't mind it the first time, but now that I've met him I don't want to know." Sarah was smiling, but Jen was sure there was a funny tone in her voice.

"It was…" Jen found it hard to say what her weekend had been like. It had left her feeling unsettled. But it was all too vague and sort of embarrassing to tell anyone about, so she plastered on a bright smile instead.

"It was good. I wanted to go to that new restaurant and I also thought about heading to the gallery to see that new exhibition, but in the end we didn't do much, just sat around and got take-out."

"Right. Well if leaving out the gory parts leaves you with 'we sat around and got take-out', then I can guess exactly what your weekend was about."

"Sarah!" Jen hit her sister playfully.

"Well, am I wrong?"

"No, but that's not the point. How was your weekend?"

"Okay," Sarah said. "It's no fun going out any more with all the creeps around."

"What do you mean?"

"You really are wrapped up in your own little world, aren't you?" Sarah said, and Jen had the distinct impression she'd been insulted. "There's been more drink spiking – this time a girl got cut with a knife when she wasn't as unconscious as the guy liked."

"Oh, that's awful."

"Yeah. Thankfully not anywhere near the bars we go to, but still. It's scary." Sarah shuddered and shook her head, as if to rid herself of the unpleasant thoughts. She changed the subject. "So you didn't get to the restaurant or the gallery?"

"No. Maybe I'll try to go to the gallery one night this week. Greg didn't seem that interested."

Jen looked at her sister and could see she was biting back words.

"What? What is it?"

"Jen…" Sarah took a deep breath as if she was gathering courage. "I know this is none of my business, but you just got out of a relationship with a manipulative, arrogant jerk who wanted to control your life. And I'm just wondering whether you've just jumped into another one."

"What?" Jen was astonished.

"I thought when you left Matt you were going to have some fun, play the field, make up for what you missed out on in your twenties. You were going to be this fun, confident, single woman who finally had her life back. But you've handed it straight to the first guy who told you what to do. You wanted to do things this weekend, but he wanted to stay at home, so that's all you did, right?"

"He didn't ask me to!" Jen felt she had to defend herself and defend Greg. "I just like doing nice things for him."

"Yeah and I bet he doesn't mind you doing nice things for him either. But what are you getting in return?"

Jen didn't know what to say. What _was_ she getting back? Orgasms? Sure. But somehow that didn't seem enough – and certainly not something she could tell her sister. A sense of being loved? Maybe, but he'd never said he did.

"Jen, you are my sister and I love you," Sarah continued, "but I'm worried about you. Why are you still living here? What happened to the life you were going to have?"

Jen felt slightly nauseous at Sarah's words. Greg was _not_ like Matt at all. Sure, he liked things the way he liked them, but…

And Jen was well aware she had overstayed her welcome in the apartment, but the reality of living by herself had been so difficult to imagine. She never had – she'd gone from home, to college dorm, to sharing with Matt. Just the idea of it made her nervous.

"I know I've outstayed my welcome. I'm sorry – you've been so patient with me," Jen felt the tears welling in her eyes, realising it was at least the third time that weekend she'd been close to tears. "But I try hard to keep the place clean and not get in your way."

Sarah sighed. "That's not what I meant at all." Jen could see she had started to tear up too. "But, Jen, just be careful. You make yourself useful and then wonder why you're being used. Don't let him do that to you too."

Jen bristled. That was not what was happening at all. Greg had helped her. Not many men would have persevered through her "virginal" defences and he had single-handedly made up for a huge amount of good sex that Jen had felt she'd missed in her life so far. Besides, he was a bit damaged too, so that made them a good pair – neither of them felt entirely comfortable in their own skins. And he was funny and intelligent and well-travelled and they could talk forever about a million subjects under the sun.

Jen avoided conflict at all costs – she hated people being upset with her or having bad blood with someone. But she couldn't let Sarah continue to think badly of Greg. She sniffed back her tears and straightened her shoulders.

"Sarah, you're right: my relationship with Greg is none of your business. If you want me to move out, I will, just say."

Sarah shook her head. "No, no, you can stay as long as you want." She gave Jen a serious look. "Fine, I'll stay out of it. I'm just concerned. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Jen smiled even though she didn't feel it, she wanted to forget this conversation had ever happened. "You're a good sister," she said.

"You too." Sarah's eyes started to well with tears again.

Jen decided to change the subject. "Can you change the channel? _Grey's Anatomy_ is about to start."


	15. Chapter 15

_A few weeks later_

Jen had gradually been spending more and more time at his apartment. It wasn't something they'd discussed, but House hated being at her place, with the constant stream of other people coming and going; and the knowledge that any noise or movement in Jen's bedroom would be overheard by her sister effectively squashed his desire. Besides, he'd started to get the feeling that she preferred being at his place anyway.

True to her word, since she'd asked him that night if she meant more to him than sex, she'd never asked anything further, never initiated any kind of "where are we going?" type of conversation. He was relieved about that. Mostly.

At first he thought he'd resent having her around so much, but it hadn't worked that way. In fact, now he actually looked forward to going home, knowing that she would be there, that she would most likely have cooked him something to eat and that he'd generally get to have sex as well. She often made him lunch, did his laundry, and seemed to love fussing over him. She also seemed to know when to disappear, going back to her place to sleep every now and then, joining her sister and her friends for a night out, or leaving him alone or to have a poker night with the guys – but not before preparing some snacks and food for him to serve them.

House had to accept that it seemed like he was built to be in a relationship. He enjoyed being taken care of. And as long as he still had independence and a certain amount of alone-time, he actually began to thrive. He felt healthier. He was taking less Vicodin. He slept well. He stopped plotting revenge at anyone at work who told one of the "House-wife" jokes that had circulated after the fundraiser. And at that, even Cuddy had looked at him sideways, although he knew she wouldn't say anything – she was too scared to disturb whatever it was that was making him less of a pain in her ass.

Today, he was bored. He hadn't had a decent patient in for almost a week. Oh sure, he'd been sent a few charts, but none of them had been actually interesting and he'd sent his team off to deal with them – which they'd done, easily.

He knew himself well enough to know that bored House very quickly became destructive House and that's exactly what he was doing.

He'd spent his morning surfing the net, catching up on some reading and then cottoned on to the brilliant idea of making nuisance calls to Jen – suggestions for dinners she could cook him, new sex toys for them to try – he'd even read her a review of a movie he wanted to see. At first she'd been charmed, he could tell that she loved him calling her. But after a while, perhaps his sixth or seventh call of the day when he'd called to read her a joke he'd got via email, her tone had become clipped and she'd told him she needed to get back to work. He could tell he'd veered into "annoying" territory. His instinct told him to push it further, see how many times he could call before she stopped answering her phone or told him to get fucked.

He knew something had changed when instead he made his way into Wilson's office, realising it had been quite a long time since he'd just wandered in with the simple purpose of making his friend's life painful.

Wilson looked up at the intrusion and House was a little startled. Wilson looked, well, pleased to see him.

"House. Haven't seen you for a while."

"Ah, so many people to annoy, so little time…" House said airily.

Wilson pushed back from his desk. "No patient then?"

"Nah. Well, yeah, but nothing interesting."

"Right. How's Jen?"

"Good, good," House replied, wondering when it was that he and Wilson had slipped into small talk like strangers. "How's Amber?"

"Like you care."

House smirked. Good. The real Wilson was still there.

"Exactly. Wanna go bowling?"

Wilson looked at his watch. "House it's not even noon. I've got a patient arriving in five minutes. How about we grab lunch together after that instead?"

House shrugged. He didn't want lunch. He wanted to escape the hospital and go do something else. Jen was at work, Wilson wouldn't play… House picked up a puzzle toy from Wilson's desk and began fiddling with it.

"Awww," he whined. "I wanna go bowling."

"No bowling House," Wilson said warningly, his tone quickly warming up to its usual lecturing level. "Cuddy told me you're still months behind with your charting and what about actually supervising your team? You could catch up on some of your outstanding clinic hours if you were really pressed for something to do. Or go home and cook your girlfriend a romantic dinner – sounds to me like you owe her one or ten."

House smiled. He obviously hadn't given Wilson enough opportunities to lecture him in the past few weeks, and it was something Wilson needed. Wilson needed to lecture House in the same way that House needed to annoy him enough to provoke it – it was their symbiotic relationship, and it worked for them both.

"All right, lunch. I'll go play in the clinic until then. See if I can scare me up a trifecta of STDs. Wanna bet twenty bucks I can get in three crotch rots before lunch?"

Wilson shook his head, trying hard to look disapproving, but House could see the smile he tried to hide.

As House was leaving the office, Wilson called out to him.

"I heard a good one today, House."

"What?"

"_How many of House's wives does it take to change a light bulb?_" Wilson recited.

House groaned and clasped his hands over his ears. "No, not a new one."

"_One. She just stands next to House and waits for the world to revolve around him._"

"Funny, Wilson," House said deadpan, walking out and closing the door without so much as cracking a smile.

"You're hilarious," he called from the corridor outside as he could still hear Wilson's chuckles from within.

* * *

--

House saw Wilson's startled look when he produced a container filled with leftovers and salad at lunch.

"Jen made me lunch," he said, his eyes daring Wilson to say a thing about it. Wilson shook his head.

"You've got it cushy, House. Your shirt even looks ironed."

His phone rang while they were eating and when he saw it was Jen he couldn't resist answering it, even though it was pretty much the only time he and Wilson had spent one-on-one in a couple of weeks. There was satisfaction in letting Wilson know that he'd interrupt their time together to talk to Jen. Just like Wilson would if Amber called him.

"Hi sexpot, what you up to?" House never used endearments, but he did it then because he thought it might annoy Wilson. Instead Wilson smiled a sappy kind of smile and House knew he was thinking instead that he had gone soft. _Damn._

But then Jen's sob immediately distracted him.

"Greg, my dad has had a stroke."

"Oh." House didn't quite know what to say in response, and it was such a sudden change to the playful and silly mood he'd been in all day. Not only that, but he wasn't very good at comforting words, especially not in public and not in front of Wilson. "How's he doing?"

"Not good. He's in ICU. Sarah and I are flying to Boston to be there for him and Mom. Sarah's organising flights. I think we're trying to get out this afternoon." Jen was obviously crying, her words chopped up by shaky breaths.

Wilson narrowed his eyes, noting the change in House's tone and posture.

"Oh, well, that's probably a good idea," he said, still not quite sure what the right thing to say was.

She paused, seemingly waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, she sniffed. "I'll call you when we get there."

"Yeah, give me a call and let me know what's going on. If I can help on the medical side of things I will." He knew a couple of people in Boston, could call in a favour if he had to. Well, not a favour as such. Very few people owed him favours, but he still had ways of getting them to do what he wanted.

"Thanks." Jen's tone didn't sound too thankful. "Gotta go."

She hung up before he could say anything more.

Wilson raised his eyebrows in unspoken question.

"Jen's dad had a stroke," House explained. "She's flying to Boston with her sister this afternoon."

"Then what are you still doing here?"

"What? I'm not going to Boston!" House was surprised Wilson would even suggest it.

"No, but you don't exactly have a busy afternoon. You could go pick her up, give her a hug, help her pack, take her to the airport."

"Nah, I'd just get in her way."

Wilson shook his head. "Yeah, House. _You_ probably would."

House could see no logical reason why he should leave work to help Jen. Sure he wasn't busy, but she had a lot to get organised and she'd be upset about her dad. Surely she'd just want to be left alone and get on with things.

It was what he'd want.

* * *

--

Out of boredom he actually found himself back in the clinic that afternoon, thinking to himself that things must be rough if it had come to this: actually volunteering for clinic duty. Especially on a Tuesday. He had no idea why, but the clinic on Tuesdays always seemed to attract the weirdest, most idiotic patients. But he wanted to be distracted, didn't want to spend any more time wondering if he'd done something wrong with the way he'd handled Jen. It didn't matter anymore really – she'd sent him a text message to say they'd got a flight, and according to that she'd already be at the airport by now. It was too late to wonder if Wilson was right, if he should have been more helpful.

He grabbed a chart without looking at it and headed for an exam room. A thirty-something man was in there, turned away. He spun around when House entered and House's eyes narrowed, already starting the diagnostic process. Blood-shot eyes, pale skin, several facial piercings, greasy hair, slightly sweaty, shallow breaths…it even looked like the guy might have the shakes. Flu? DTs? Some rare tropical disease? House sighed – he couldn't be that lucky.

"So, what seems to be up with you?" He sat down heavily onto a wheeling stool, rolling himself across to grab some gloves from the dispenser.

"Oh doc, it's not me, it's the girls." House belatedly noticed a double stroller in the room and flipped open the chart as the man reached in a scooped up a baby.

"I think they might need to come back into the hospital for a bit, they're not sleeping and they cry all the time…"

"Well, that's what babies do…" House started blithely, until he saw the father lay the floppy body of the silent infant on the examination table, its skin blue-tinged. He leapt across the room and flung open the door.

"I need a crash cart and some help in here!"

House ignored the man's constant questions, working with the nurses who arrived to bring life back into the tiny body. Finally, the baby began to turn pink and he could tell he wasn't the only one who experienced a rush of relief when it uttered a small cry.

They all stepped back, taking a moment to calm down from the rush of adrenaline.

Afterwards, House wasn't sure what made him do it, but something in the back of his mind itched and he turned away, walking over to the baby carriage. As soon as he looked at the twin girl there was no room for further conscious thought. He dropped his cane and bent down and grabbed the child, and in just a couple of limped strides was back to the examination bed, lying a second blue baby down.

"Come on people, lets do it again."

* * *

--

As distractions went, it was a good one. By midnight that night the twin girls were just barely stable in the hospital's NICU. As soon as their breathing had stabilised they began vomiting blood – within barely minutes of each other.

House and his team had run multiple tests, but no conclusive results had come back yet, so they were still in the dark about what might be the cause of their dramatic illness. They'd even examined the father from top-to-toe, House convinced by his appearance that he must be sick, but eventually they'd concluded that he had no virus or other illness; he was just father to two newborns and hadn't slept properly for days.

House wished he still had Chase's neonatal experience on his team.

"I'm going home," he announced finally, having stared at the white board long

enough to leave reflections of it on his retinas. The board was divided in two halves, one titled "genetic" the other "environmental". With both babies sick with the same thing at the same time, he was sure it would be something under one of those two headings.

"Yeah, there's nothing we can do until we get the new tests back anyway," Kutner agreed.

Thirteen walked back into the conference room from having been down the NICU.

"Something weird," she said, a little uncertain.

"What?" House demanded as he continued to pack things into his backpack. Anything weird could be a clue.

"The twins' mother hasn't come in. The dad's still there but no mom."

"She still alive?" House asked.

"House!" Taub exclaimed.

"What?" he asked defensively as the team muttered about his insensitivity. "It's one of the possible options. Death in childbirth still happens, you know."

Taub pulled the charts back to him and flipped to the last pages.

"The records we have only go up to when they were discharged from the hospital. Five weeks in NICU after they were born at 33 weeks by caesarean," he read. "Mother took a while to recover from surgery, but I don't have any further info on her here. But definitely _still alive_." He emphasised.

"Dig up the mother's chart. Tell me what you find. See you tomorrow."

He got home, tired, but with his brain still whirling. He didn't even remember Jen or her dad until he was in the bathroom and saw a box of tampons open next to the sink. Well, that explained why she'd seemed so irritable, anyway. It was too late to call, so he made a mental note to get in touch in the morning. He figured if her father's condition had become more serious she would have let him know.

He wandered into the kitchen, feeling peckish. He wondered if she'd had a chance to cook anything before she'd left. He opened the refrigerator and was disappointed to find it empty. Well, empty of anything he could reheat in the microwave.

* * *

--

_Saturday_

House and Taub walked into the NICU to check on the twins' status – over the five days since they'd been admitted their conditions had stabilised briefly and then continued to decline, each twin following exactly the same pattern. They were still determined it had to be genetic or environmental, given that both babies had identical symptoms. But they had yet to come up with anything definitive.

The father was sitting in a chair near their cribs, his head cradled in his hands.

"I didn't want this, I didn't want this," he kept repeating to himself quietly.

House frowned, wondering what he meant. "Where is your wife?" he asked without preamble.

The father sat up abruptly, obviously surprised by House's words. He gave both doctors a brief glance before look back down at his feet.

"She's…" he drew in a breath. "She's too sick to come in."

"What do you mean sick? You told Dr Taub that your wife was healthy." House frowned at Taub and Taub began to stutter a protest.

"Physically yes," the father said. He shuddered and seemed to reach some internal decision. He looked up and House was momentarily shocked by the desperation in the man's eyes. "Mentally no. She barely gets out of bed anymore. She didn't even come to visit the twins in hospital once she was discharged. She ignores them completely."

"You mean you've been looking after the babies alone?" Taub asked, surprised.

"Both our families live interstate and after the first visits from the nurse there's been no one else…"

Both doctors cringed with embarrassment as the man began to cry.

"I didn't want this…I didn't even want kids in the first place…" he said again, swallowing hard and trying to bring his emotions under control. "Need…sleep…need my life back…" he said sniffing.

House sighed irritably. This wasn't getting them anywhere, but he had the feeling the father knew more than he was letting on. He needed someone who'd sit with the guy and sympathise and cajole him into revealing whatever it was he was hiding. Someone who had that perfect blend of inherent sincerity and hard-learned deviousness.

He needed…

Cameron.

Thirteen would have to do. He wasn't sure why, but Cameron had been avoiding him even more than usual lately.

* * *

--

_Saturday evening_

House got back to his office, still musing over what they'd eventually discovered. He'd thought his threshold for people's stupidity and cruelty was pretty high. It took a lot to shock him, but this case had affected him.

Not that he'd be letting anyone know that.

Through the day, the twins had progressively deteriorated and when their organ systems began to fail – the point of no return – he'd made Thirteen quiz the dad again. After a heart-to-heart, the father had admitted that he had been feeding the babies ever-increasing doses of ibuprofen to make them sleep. At first he'd stayed within the recommended dosages, but as his exhaustion and despair had mounted, he'd decided that he needed to get the babies sick enough to be admitted back into hospital. Then he'd planned to disappear.

But his guilt wouldn't let him escape once it became clear exactly how sick he'd made his daughters. The idiot had no idea that a seemingly innocent, drug-store medicine could do so much damage. Couldn't believe that he'd _killed_ them. Not even when the police came and took him away.

House still felt nauseous about watching the two babies die. The drug had laid waste to their stomach and intestines, not even the most dexterous surgeon able to fix the multiple ulcers and tears, let alone their tiny livers that had collapsed under the strain of trying to filter out the massive doses of drugs they'd been poisoned with. They'd simply bled until they had no more blood left – there was no point transfusing them, it was all too late. Far too late. He wandered into the conference room where his team all sat, silently, as if needing the reassurance of other people's presence, but not talk.

He sat at the end of the table and nodded towards Taub. "What were their names?"

"Jessica and Taylor," he replied, not even acknowledging the oddness of the request.

House just nodded.

"I'm going to have a drink," Taub said, rising from the table and packing up to leave. "Anyone want to join me?"

"Sounds good," Thirteen added, also getting up.

"What about you?" Kutner turned to House.

House waved them away. "Go, get drunk. It's what I'm gonna do to. Alone."

Once his team had gone, House spent a little while staring out the window at the sunset. His mind thankfully kind of blank. Then he got up and started packing up, planning to head home to a bottle of whisky.

He checked his cell phone and saw two missed calls from the last three hours – both from Jen. He called his message bank and cringed as her voice reminded him that she was flying in from Boston and he was supposed to pick her up – he looked at his watch – about an hour ago. The second message was from just twenty minutes ago, Jen at the airport, telling him she was getting a cab and that she'd see him later.

He felt bad. Guilty. He _had_ promised to pick her up. She'd been in Boston for five days and he'd spoken to her only once in all that time, getting a quick debrief on her dad's condition and telling her that he'd see her at the airport. He'd only agreed to do that because he was already feeling guilty about not being better at sympathy, at not being the type of person she needed right then.

_Great, guilt trip on top of guilt trip. On top of feeling shit about the assholes in the world who would kill babies to get a good night's sleep. _

This was why he avoided relationships.

* * *

--

Jen was absolutely exhausted. She was the sensible one in her family, the reliable, smart, dependable one, and when she and Sarah arrived in Boston, their mother had collapsed into a mess of tears and terror. Their father was still in ICU, but the doctors were positive about his outlook.

So Jen had spent the next couple of days dealing with health insurance, hospital administrators and doctors, and finding care options to help her parents when her dad got out of hospital. Sarah had comforted their mother, keeping her stocked with magazines and coffee and trying to ensure that her hysteria didn't affect their dad.

Her father's speech returned quickly and if another person told her that that was a "good sign" she felt like she'd hit them. It might well be a good sign, but he still couldn't move his left arm or leg properly and his face still had the odd twist to it that made him look not quite like her dad.

Sarah had been able to arrange a few days off work, so she was staying on until Wednesday to help out. Jen had to go back to work Monday, but found she could get a flight almost two hundred dollars cheaper if she flew out on Saturday instead of Sunday so, although feeling guilty about leaving Sarah, she'd decided to save the money. By the time she'd left, her father was out of ICU and they'd even encouraged him to get out of bed, although it would be a long while before he walked properly again – if ever.

The fact that Greg hadn't come to the airport – or even left her a message to say he wasn't coming – hadn't really surprised her, although she'd still been disappointed. And stupidly hopeful enough to wait around for forty minutes in case he was running late.

The fact that they'd only spoken once in the whole time she'd been away should have been a clue.

He told her he had a patient, a sick baby or something, and of course Jen felt very sorry for the sick baby, but she felt very sorry for herself as well. All she wanted was a hug. She just wanted his arms around her and for him to tell her that everything was going to be all right, even though they both would know that it wasn't.

She'd told the cab driver to take her home, but as they drove along, the city lights starting to come on, she changed her mind and gave him Greg's address.

He might not even be there. He might not be happy that she'd presume to go to his place without him. But she didn't care. She couldn't face her own empty apartment.

* * *

--

House noticed the lights were on when he pulled up outside his place, but he didn't really process what that meant until he walked in and saw Jen sitting on his sofa. With a sigh, he dumped his stuff, mentally preparing for her attack. His normal strategy was to attack first, put the other person on the defensive, but tonight he didn't have the energy. He figured he'd just take it on the chin, and that might help relieve some of his guilt too.

He sat down heavily on the sofa next to her. She didn't look at him, just sat staring at the blank television screen. He wondered absently how long she'd been sitting in silence, staring into space. He knew how comforting that could be sometimes.

After just another few seconds' silence, Jen practically threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. She wasn't crying, but her breathing was laboured, as if she was holding back tears.

Momentarily shocked, House sat frozen. Yet again, her reaction was not what he expected, not what he'd planned for. He wondered if her father was worse, or even if he'd died. But no, she would have told him if that had happened. Like him, she'd just had a rough few days.

Slowly he wrapped his arms around her, leaning down to kiss her hair, breathing in the now-familiar floral scent of her shampoo and the faint but unmistakable whiff of aeroplane air-conditioning.

There was comfort to be gained from just holding another person, he realised. A connection outside of sex, somehow both simpler and more complicated.

He tightened his arms around her, thinking about the stupid, idiot father, and the two lost children who'd probably had very little affection in their short lives.

"It's okay," he said, not sure where the words were coming from. "Everything will be okay."

But he knew it wouldn't. Because the world didn't work like that.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Hi all, this chapter and the next one go together, but it was too much to post all in one go, so you'll get the next part shortly. Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed - you have no idea how excited I get by those little "review alert" notices in my inbox!

--

* * *

After hugging on the sofa for a long while, they'd both got up and headed to the bedroom. Jen looked as tired as he felt and seemingly didn't have any need for words, which was fine with him. They undressed and both unusually put on pyjamas and then cuddled together in bed. House had wondered if she'd want to talk in the darkness, but sleep claimed him before he found out.

He woke late in the morning when Jen got up to make them both coffee, bringing the cups back into bed. Once she settled in again, House went to work, making her come twice – once with his mouth and then again with his hand – before sliding into her to find his own release. He was going to try for a third for her, but she stilled his hand.

"Feel better now?" she asked him.

The first thing that hit him was that they were the first words they'd spoken to each other since they'd sat on the sofa the night before. The second was the tone in her voice – one he'd never heard from Jen before. Bitchy, almost nasty. It was not a kindly enquiry after his wellbeing.

"What do you mean?" he said, immediately on the defensive.

She sighed. "Nothing."

"Yeah, right." He knew she was lying, but couldn't bring himself to ask more.

She reached under the covers and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly. He squeezed back briefly, wondering what the hell was going on.

Jen got up and made them both fresh coffee, returning to bed again. She settled back.

"So, how's your patient, the baby, doing?" she asked.

The question gave him a shiver, suddenly flooding him with the unpleasant memories of the day before. He didn't know what to say.

"Not good?" she asked, turning to him, concern on her face at his silence.

"Very 'not good'," he said. "Dead. Both of them."

He could tell she was both shocked and confused and didn't know which to deal with first.

"Both?" she asked eventually.

"Twins. Girls."

"Oh no." He could see tears well in her eyes. Why the fate of two dead babies she'd never met could possibly upset her he had no idea.

"Their father poisoned them. By the time we found that out, it was too late."

"Oh my God! Their father _poisoned_ them?"

"Yeah."

"How could you do that to your child? To babies?" Jen was clearly upset. "How on earth could a father hurt his own child?"

"There are some assholes in this world who should be castrated before they have the chance to breed," he said quietly. He could hear the bitterness in his own voice. He watched as she turned to him, realising her sympathy was now directed towards him. She reached over and squeezed his arm and the pity in her eyes almost made him feel sick.

House had buried a lot about his own childhood and family way, way down, so deep that it rarely ever surfaced. Which was exactly the way he liked it. But occasionally in his work, a case brushed against that locked box, cracking open the lid, and some of the darkness seeped out. In the past he'd found it took a while – and quite a bit of whisky – to re-close it.

He recalled the framed, "happy family" portraits he'd found at Jen's place the first time he'd visited and her seemingly idyllic childhood suddenly made him angry.

"Not everyone has the perfect little family like the Edwards," he said, his tone sounding a little more nasty than he'd actually intended.

"What?" Her voice was sharp and he could tell he'd hit a nerve. He was at once conscious of what he was about to do, but also unable to stop it. Like a prospector looking for gold, he'd found a glimmer of something shiny and now he had to mine the seam. With a pick axe.

"Oh, daddy's sick, let's all go running to help," he said mockingly. "Let's look after poor mommy who had to take time out of her hectic tennis and gin-and-tonic schedule to be at the hospital. Oh he's had a stroke, let's hope it doesn't affect his golf handicap."

The hurt on Jen's face was raw and almost painful for him to look at. He was torn between wanting to take back the words and a bizarre satisfaction that his barbs had been such a precision strike.

"Greg, you have no idea…" Jen's voice was shaking.

"No idea about what? You have the perfect family. Mom, dad, two pretty daughters. Yeah, only one of them went to college, but hey, that's a fifty per cent strike rate. And what the hell, it leaves more money for trips to Florida and country club fees."

"It's not perfect. It's nothing like that…"

"Really? Well I…"

"Greg, my parents aren't wealthy," she said steadily. "They struggle. I've spent the last few days fighting with an insurance company to try to make sure my dad can get some of his medical bills paid, or else they might have to sell their house."

"Oh, so you're _not_ the perfect family then? Those happy smiley portraits hide skeletons?"

"I don't know about _perfect_. We love each other. Look out for each other. But there's never been a lot of money to go around. I put myself through college. I'm still paying off some pretty hefty loans. In fact…"

She swallowed hard and he wondered what it was she was about to admit.

"I can't actually afford to pay for anymore take-out this month, after the plane flights, so we're going to have to cook more."

He was surprised, he'd never given the cost of their food a second's consideration. But that was a fleeting thought. He could hear that she was trying to contain herself, reign in her anger. That wasn't good enough. That wasn't going to give him what he needed.

"So _not_ perfect," he said. "What, did mommy slip a little vodka into her morning coffee to get the day started? Did daddy touch you in your special place? Is that the real reason you never managed a proper sex life? You're so uptight it's a wonder any man ever managed to get inside you."

_Bullseye_.

Jen's eyes filled with tears of hurt and anger. But the satisfaction he'd expected didn't materialise. The cold joy of winning over someone else by hurting them was completely absent. He just felt…empty.

"I can't believe you would say something like that," Jen said quietly, her voice flat, despite the tears that were clearly about to fall. She got out of bed and started to dress, pulling her clothes on robotically. Once she was dressed, she stopped and stared at him.

"I know you like to shock people and I even like to watch you do it sometimes," she continued. "But I can't believe you would say that to me. After what I've been through this week. My dad is in hospital, he's had a stroke. I love him and he loves me and he would never even _imagine_ doing anything like that to his daughter. He could barely bring himself to give us a smack when we were naughty children. My mother is upset because her husband is sick. She barely has a glass of wine a week."

House hadn't expected her to defend the points of his attack. He'd didn't really think her parents had done anything of the sort, but it was as good a place to start as any and it had effectively stopped any of the questions he knew she'd been about to ask about him.

"I think it's best if I go now." She stood in the doorway, looking exhausted and drained.

And House felt…sorry. He wondered why he did this to himself. He was – if he was honest about it – upset by the babies' deaths. He'd already found that being with Jen made him feel better. So why would he sabotage that? He sighed.

This was his way. This was why he was better off being alone.

"Yeah, you probably should." He realised that there was little he could do to salvage things right then. But he hated the hurt look in her eyes. "Jen…I…"

She waited for a moment to see if he said anything further, but he couldn't think of what to say. When no words came forth she turned and walked away. He heard the door close softly a moment later.

* * *

--

_Thursday_

When the flowers had arrived at her work on Monday, Jen had been surprised but not necessarily pleased. They weren't red roses – not that she'd expected that, she knew he wouldn't do something so clichéd – but the brightly coloured gerberas and foliage he'd sent instead weren't…apologetic. They were the sort of flowers you sent a friend for their birthday, or in congratulations for a promotion. She knew the florist might have picked them, but knowing him she didn't think he'd leave something like that up to chance.

She didn't call.

Wasn't sure what to say if she did. She had watched him be mean to other people, but hadn't counted on it hurting so much when he directed it on her. She knew that it was partly her fault. She let him get away with too much. Didn't call him on things. Like training a dog… she hadn't set boundaries about what was and wasn't acceptable behaviour for her. She'd just been so _grateful_ for his attention – anyone's attention. And that it happened to be someone who made her knees weak… She'd been so in need of his presence, so captivated by him and so amazed that he wanted an overweight, inexperienced, insecure woman like her. She couldn't do anything to jeopardise that.

He'd said their relationship meant more to him than sex. But his every action belied that. Yes, she knew he felt guilty about forgetting to pick her up at the airport, but his way of saying sorry was by making her come – three times if she'd let him. Sure, that was good, but it wasn't good enough.

He didn't call either.

That was okay. She needed time to think.

Sarah flew in late on Wednesday night, so Thursday evening was the first chance they had to sit down together and catch up. After Sarah discussed the extra days she'd spent in Boston and Jen very briefly outlined the current rift between her and Greg they sat quietly with a glass of wine, watching TV and each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually Jen reached over to the day's pile of mail and started going through it.

One particular envelope caught her eye and she tore it open, just about choking when she read the contents.

Sarah looked away from the TV, picking up Jen's surprise. "What? What is it?"

"Uh…" Jen was so stunned she barely knew where to begin. "I don't…I don't suppose you might have paid off my college loans for me as a surprise?" She looked up at Sarah with wide eyes.

"Um, no. I mean I'd love to and everything, but I have nowhere near that much money lying around."

"I didn't think so," Jen said quietly, musing. "Mom and dad?" she asked, although she was already pretty sure she knew the answer.

"I doubt it. Not with the medical bills…" Suddenly what Jen was asking seemed to dawn on Sarah. "He didn't…did he?"

Jen stared back. "I don't know," she whispered.

"How?"

"I don't know." She handed the piece of paper to Sarah.

Sarah skimmed it and then looked up. "It was over twelve thousand dollars," she said, her tone clearly disbelieving even though she'd read it in black and white. "Paid in full, yesterday."

"I know."

"Maybe he realised the flowers were pathetic." She gestured to the vase in the corner. "What are you going to do?"

Jen's surprise was still too overwhelming to think logically.

"I don't know. How can I give it back? I can't give it back…I don't have that money."

"I guess it's his way of saying sorry."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Pretty impressive apology," Sarah gave her sister a grin. "You sure know how to pick 'em."

Jen sighed. "So it would seem. I don't know, I don't feel right…"

"Jen, take it. Say thank you and take it. If he'd hired someone to do everything you've been doing for him over the past couple of months it would have cost him that much."

Jen flinched, not wanting to even think about what Sarah was insinuating.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Sarah said, having seen Jen's grimace. "I just meant the housework and stuff." She handed the letter back to her sister. "Take the money, Jen."

Jen knew she really had little choice. He had paid the loan, not given her the money to do it herself, so he'd made it impossible for her to choose whether or not to accept. He'd taken that power away from her.

It was totally his style.

"I guess I have to."

* * *

--

_Friday_

"You did what?" Wilson knew he shouldn't be surprised; he should be long past the time that anything House might do could shock him. But it seemed he still had a few tricks up his sleeve that managed to keep Wilson on his toes.

House stopped pacing and flopped down into the chair opposite Wilson's desk. "Well I called the florist on Monday and she definitely got the flowers, but she didn't call. So I figured I'd get her attention some other way. She would have got confirmation in the mail last night."

"And picking up the phone and calling her didn't occur to you?"

House made some noncommittal noise.

"Last time I checked, House, a phone call cost a few cents. You spent – what was it? Twelve thousand dollars? Have you ever thought that it might be easier – not to mention cheaper – to just not get yourself into this sort of situation in the first place?"

"How long have you known me?" House asked, as if Wilson's comment was the most stupid question in the world.

"I just…" Wilson sighed. "I just hope she takes this the way you think she will. She might see it from a different perspective."

House ignored him. "Want to bet me it works?" he asked instead.

Wilson shook his head. "House, I think your expenses this week don't leave much spare cash for gambling."

House had told him that he and Jen had fought over his failure to pick her up at the airport when he'd been tied up with the sick babies. Wilson figured it was probably a lot more than that for two reasons.

One, from what Wilson had seen, Jen had showed herself to be an exceptionally patient woman who seemed to have an astonishing capacity for understanding House's erratic schedule and dedication to his patients. He was sure that if everything else was fine and that House had just not been at the airport because of two dying babies she would completely understand.

Two – and more importantly – House seemed genuinely contrite and appeared to be making sincere attempts to apologise – even if they were somewhat unusual by normal standards. If Jen really had told House that he needed to put _her _in front of his patients, Wilson had no doubt that House would have told her to like it or lump it.

House looked ready to argue back, but his cell phone rang and he gave Wilson a grin of triumph when he answered it.

"Jen, hi. Hang on a sec."

He gave Wilson his best "I told you so" face and then stepped out onto the balcony to take the call. He was back after only a couple of minutes.

"So?" Wilson asked. House had his poker face on and Wilson was immediately on edge.

"She's coming to my place at seven to talk." House's countenance cracked into a smile. "Oh baby, I'm so getting some tonight."

"House. I think you have more important things to think about."

"Like?"

"Like what are you going to say? Will you actually say 'sorry'? Will you have an adult conversation and resolve what's going on?"

"I've already said sorry – to the tune of twelve thousand dollars. And I'll promise to remember to pick her up at the airport next time."

"Uh huh."

Wilson could tell House just wanted him to say congratulations, to give him kudos for his brilliant "win back the girl" strategy that appeared to have worked. Wilson wasn't so sure. Instead, he gave House an encouraging smile.

"Geez you're a smug bastard," House said, but Wilson could tell there wasn't any fire in his words. "Has Amber found a new bondage DVD that's keeping you grinning?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Whatever House. Good luck tonight."

House headed for the door. "Thanks, but I don't need it," he threw over his shoulder as he walked out.

Wilson remembered that very first night in the bar, when House had brought Jen over to their table. At the time, Wilson had thought Jen seemed sweet and lovely and he had worried about her – about how House might hurt her. Now, he was worried about exactly the opposite. He just hoped she knew what it was that she appeared to be holding in the palm of her hand; House's heart was rarely seen and even more rarely given away.


	17. Chapter 17

Jen didn't want that blue-eyed smile to melt her resolve, but from the moment he opened the door – she decided to knock rather than go straight in as she normally would – she knew she was in trouble. She'd told herself to be firm. To ask him to be more respectful of her and to compromise more often on things like how they spent their time. And she absolutely, definitely, no-question-about-it, was _not_ going to sleep with him tonight. Even though she'd spent most of the day imaging just how many times and in how many different ways he could make her come if she let him.

Her traitorous heart leapt when he gave her a tentative smile, and she knew that she wanted him to kiss her, kiss her and take her in the bedroom and make the world disappear in that way he did. But no, she needed to be the grown up. One of them had to be, and she was betting it wouldn't be him.

She smiled back and shrugged off her coat. He immediately stepped in to help her and, as he hung it up, she was again struck by the gentlemanly manners that occasionally seemed so incongruous with his prickly exterior.

They sat on the sofa, both seeming a little nervous, and she declined his offer of a drink, noting with surprise that he didn't have one either.

She took a deep breath, figuring it was best to just get straight to it.

"Greg, you didn't have to pay my loan. That was a bit extreme, don't you think?"

"You're here aren't you?" He looked smug.

"Yeah, but it was so much money. I can't even pay you back, well not right away, but I could save up…"

He waved a hand and she could tell he was insulted by the idea.

Despite herself, her heart tugged. This was why she loved this man. Because he did ridiculously extravagant things like insult speakers in front of hundreds of people, or spend twelve thousand dollars without blinking to let her know things that he couldn't bring himself to say.

"Well, thank you. But Greg, you can't talk to me the way you did on Sunday. I know you didn't necessarily mean it. But we both had an awful time last week and then instead of making each other feel better we ended up fighting. Why?"

He shrugged and looked away.

"I'm sorry I didn't pick you up," he said quietly.

Jen swallowed, still feeling nervous. At least he had said the "s" word, but did he really think he needed to be sorry about that? There were so many other things that were far more important to say sorry for – for not being more supportive when her dad was sick, for saying those terrible things to her, for treating her like a maid sometimes. Hell, he should be sorry for not asking for her support when he was hurting about those poor babies, because he'd obviously been upset.

She shook her head, remembering the words she'd mentally rehearsed in preparation before coming over.

"I think we need to take a step back in our relationship."

A funny expression crossed Greg's face and she wondered if it was at her suggestion or just at the word "relationship".

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I know you still don't want to even call what we have a 'relationship', but Greg, we're practically living together. We might have had a shaky start, but for the past couple of months we've jumped in with both feet, even if we haven't discussed it."

He nodded, letting her continue.

"And I'm…not ready yet. I want to go back to dating. Do you think we could do that?" Jen had given it a lot of thought. They had got into things too fast. They'd started dealing with domestic issues before they even really knew each other. She still had no idea why he'd been so affected by the deaths of those babies – and she realised it was because she didn't know enough about his work, his past, his family, _him_.

"Dating?" There was a funny tone to his voice, but she didn't know what it meant.

"Yeah. Going out together. Having fun. Doing things together. Getting to know one another."

"Don't we do that already?"

Jen swallowed. She thought he'd understand – in fact thought he'd be happy about it. He was the one who hadn't wanted a relationship in the first place. She'd thought this would be the perfect solution – go back to dating. Her sister had been right: there were so many things Jen wanted to do before she found herself back in a full-time relationship. The idea of having her own place had started to appeal and she'd even started looking at real estate listings.

She could see his foot tapping, whether he was impatient or irritated, she wasn't sure.

"No we don't, not really Greg. We mostly stay at home, eat take-out and have sex. I want…more."

"More? Of what?"

"Of my own life."

"Ah." He got up and started pacing. "You want to see other people."

"No!" That was the furthest thing from her mind.

"You want to stop having sex?"

"No." _Oh God no, not that. _

"Then I don't get what's different from now."

She looked at him, and could have sworn he was actually pouting. His expression made her want to pull him into her arms and hug him like a little boy. He sat down on the sofa close to her, as if he knew that his warmth and his smell would weaken her, make her want to give up and melt into his arms.

"Oh Greg," she sighed in frustration. _This was going nowhere._ She was torn between walking out and pouncing on him and acting out the desperate, dirty thoughts she'd been having all day.

She wouldn't be walking out.

"Just shut up and kiss me."

He didn't wait for a second invitation, cupping her cheek with his hand as he lowered his lips to hers. His touch was tentative, at first, pulling on her lips with his, kissing her gently, like he could kiss it all better. Jen groaned, wanting more. It had only been five days since she'd last had his hands on her, but it felt like forever. If their relationship was measured only by how it felt when they touched one another, then it truly was perfect.

But still, he kept it slow, darting his tongue to taste her, tangling his hand in her hair. Jen wanted more, so much more.

"Come on." She pulled away from him and stood up, offering her hand to him.

"Impatient are we?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes. Bedroom. Now. Move. Do what I tell you."

House saw the glint in her eye and figured he could see how this was going to play out. He rose and let her lead him into the bedroom.

"Strip," she commanded him.

He felt like laughing at her, but held it in. Something told him this was what she needed, to feel in control of what was happening. He decided to let her. And it worked for him too. Losing himself in sex was just what he needed to prevent him from thinking about what she'd just said and how he felt about it. What it meant.

He gave her a meek look and, without saying anything, began to unbutton his shirt.

"Good," she said as he shrugged off both shirt and t-shirt and started to unbutton the fly of his jeans. She began to undress too, but more slowly.

"Those too." She indicated to his boxers and he obediently dropped them down and kicked them away.

He decided not to speak, waiting to see if she'd tell him he needed her permission to do that, but he glanced his eyes up and down her body in a clear request that she be naked too.

"You can take off my clothes."

House smiled. Regardless of whatever else needed to be worked out, he was going to enjoy this. And he liked this new side of Jen. Obviously dominatrix Jen had no body image issues either, because all the lights were on and he was very quickly getting her naked. For every piece of clothing he removed he stroked her skin, delighting in the goosebumps that followed in his wake.

He leant in to kiss her breast, inhaling her smell, a warm, floral, powdery scent that told him she'd showered just before coming over. She had prepared for this, he thought, this was exactly how she'd wanted the evening to play out. Despite what she'd just said, he knew she loved this side of their relationship as much as he did.

"No." Jen stepped back before his lips could touch his lips to her nipple and he looked up in surprise. "You can't have those until later." He saw the smirk she struggled to contain and was grateful that she did. If she started laughing, he would too, and the potential sexiness of their role playing would be over with.

"Kneel."

He frowned. Kneeling wasn't one of his best tricks with a wrecked thigh muscle. She led him over to the bed and positioned him so he could use it to lower himself. On his knees, he was leaning with his right side flush against the mattress, so it relieved the pressure he would otherwise have felt.

He looked up at her, standing over him and suddenly felt a little vulnerable. He knew that, even kneeling, he could probably overpower her, but it was more than physical vulnerability.

She walked right up to him and pushed her hands through his hair, tipping his head back and leaning down to kiss him with an open mouth. Her tongue sought his and he remembered that first night they'd met, when she'd told him she was no good at kissing. Either she'd been lying or he'd been a _very_ effective teacher. His cock began to twitch.

Abruptly she pulled her lips away and stretched out her back, obviously sore from leaning down to him.

"Miss Jen, your mouth…" he began meekly, wanting to praise her kissing.

She quickly pushed a finger against his lips. "No. That's not what your mouth is for. Not for talking. Not tonight."

She stepped closer still and stretched again, sinuously. Then he began to see exactly what she had in mind for his mouth. She lifted her left leg up onto the bed, balancing herself against her raised knee and the end of the bed.

"I think you know what to do, what pleases me," she said.

Again, she nearly smiled at her corny words, but chased it away. He nodded, keeping his face serious. He was pretty sure he did know what to do. Exactly what to do. Why did this stuff come so easily and yet everything else about being with a woman was so hard?

Using his fingers he parted her with great care and then leant in to kiss her, French kissing her as if it was her mouth. He teased her and tickled her, never quite touching the nub of her desire, enjoying the mewling noises she made when he got close but then moved away again without touching it. His fingers teased her as well, running down the crack of her ass and playing around her entrance, now wet from her want and his kisses.

Her thighs began to tremble, but he knew it was more from standing and from weathering his teasing; he hadn't given her enough to make her come yet. He used the very tip of his tongue to flick a lick directly on her clit in one last, cruel tease, and then pulled back to look at her.

"Was that pleasing, Miss Jen?" he asked, trying to stay in the role.

"Not talking, remember?" she said, breathlessly. "Get up." She lowered her leg and walked a couple of steps to stretch out.

He leaned heavily on the bed and lifted himself up into a sitting position, groaning a little. His leg throbbed with the effort.

Before he caught his breath she knelt in front of him, pushed his knees apart and took his half-hard cock into her hand. She lifted it so her mouth could slip lower and lick his scrotum, taking one of his balls gently into her mouth and rolling her tongue around it.

He couldn't help his yelp of surprise – she'd never done that before. Recovering, he smiled to himself. Miss Jen had obviously been to the library.

After licking and sucking his balls thoroughly she took his shaft in her mouth, fastening her pretty mouth around him and taking him all the way in. So deep he half waited for her to gag, but it didn't happen.

She licked, sucked and pulsed her mouth around him until he groaned, at once both desperate to come and wanting the sweet torture to never end. But then she lifted her head and sat back on the floor on her haunches.

"I thought about this," she said. "All day."

"Wha…" he began.

She held a finger to her lips, reminding him not to speak. He nodded and closed his mouth.

She looked up at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I thought about going down on you and you going down on me. I imagined it almost all day. I thought about where I'd like you to come. I thought about letting you come in my mouth, but then I thought I might pull you out just at the last minute and let you come over my breasts."

House thought the sound he made in response could pretty much be classified as a whimper. _Christ, the woman wouldn't watch a porn film, but she says stuff like that?_

"But then I realised I wanted you to come inside me. I love the feeling when you come, the way you twitch when you're deep in me, the warmth, holding you when it happens."

He nodded and swallowed hard, not knowing what more to do.

"Move back on the bed, lean up against the bedhead."

He did as she instructed, piling a few pillows behind himself. She straddled him, doing that trick of resting her weight so it didn't hurt him. She grabbed his hand and drew it between her legs, then pulled his head to her breasts.

_Ah, so it was her turn again._ That was fine too.

He went to work, stroking her firmly, this time including her clit in his touches. He bit down on one of her nipples until she gasped and then he released it, licking and sucking the hurt away.

She reached down and grasped his shaft in her hand, stroking him and rubbing her thumb over the head, spreading the moisture that beaded there.

He could tell by the way she was moving her hips that she wanted his fingers to penetrate her, but he kept moving away, not allowing her that touch. Eventually she groaned.

"More, I need more." Rising higher on her knees, she moved herself closer to him and pulled him into more of a sitting position. She positioned his cock and sank down. House groaned as he felt her hot warmth surround him. She gasped and paused for a moment before she began to move on him slowly. He remembered she'd told him he felt huge inside her when they fucked this way and the thought made him moan.

She was totally in control; the position allowed him very little movement. He ached to thrust into her, but then she started clenching her internal muscles as she rocked up and down on him. With every move her nipples brushed against his chest and he knew he wasn't going to last long at all, whether or not he could move.

"Say something," she said, her voice just this side of pleading. "Tell me something to make me come."

He was going to make a joke about finally being allowed to speak, but he could barely think straight as it was.

"Oh God, Jen…" he said while his brain struggled to catch up.

She was grinding against him, pushing her clit into him, heedless of anything except seeking her own pleasure. He squeezed her ass with one hand and pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger with the other, delighting in her groan as he twisted it.

"Whisper in my ear," she pleaded, leaning further into him, her hair brushing over his shoulder.

He did as she asked, whispering low and gravelly into her ear, so close his lips moved against her skin as he spoke. "You're so beautiful." He took his hand from her breast and used it to brush her hair back, running his fingers through the blonde, silky curtain. "Arch your back into me. Yeah, you feel so hot. The way you're moving feels so good. I want to slam into you and you won't let me, will you? You're going to come first and then tell me when I'm allowed to. You're going to come so hard…"

"Ah!"

He stopped speaking as she cried out and he felt her muscles contract around him. She kept moving, and being inside her hot, wet passage as it squeezed around him was mind-blowing.

"Come," she commanded him between gasps, and he had no trouble obeying, his body straining with effort, feeling the spreading warmth as he exploded inside her. His climax seemed to extend her orgasm and both of them cried out, moving together to prolong their peaks. Finally, after forever, she slowed, still rocking against him until he had to put his hands on her hips to still her, his sensitivity now tipping the pleasure into pain.

Delicately she rose from him and shuddered as he slipped from her body. She fell back on the bed, still breathing heavily.

It was House who rearranged the pillows and pulled the comforter over them, House who pulled his body to hers and cuddled into her.

Without the energy to speak, both of them slept.

* * *

--

Jen woke a few hours later, around midnight, hungry because they hadn't eaten that evening. She moved to get up, but a hairy arm reached out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back down into the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"To the kitchen to get food," Jen said, smiling. "I'm hungry." He hugged her to him and Jen felt that wonderful sense of the world having disappeared and it just being the two of them, in bed, loving each other.

"There isn't any."

"What do you mean? That refrigerator was full of food last week."

"Yeah, but I've been eating and you haven't been here."

"Oh." Jen's light-hearted mood began to sink. A world of just the two of them was pretend. There was a real world after all. A real world that involved supermarkets and sick fathers and dead babies and balancing everything.

He didn't seem to notice. Instead, he began stroking her, his fingers running over her breasts. She could feel his arousal begin to harden against her leg.

"You know, that was some of the best sex I've ever had," he said suggestively, leaning in to whisper in her ear again. "I don't know what you've been studying, but it definitely worked."

"I'm glad you approve," she said. She rubbed her ear against her shoulder, his whispering was ticklish, not arousing this time.

"Uh-huh." He moved back and propped himself up on one elbow to look at her. "You know what, _grasshopper_?" he said with a silly accent, putting a finger under her chin to make her face him. "There comes a day every teacher dreads. When the student outshines the master. Your lessons, Jen, are officially over."

"Really?" Jen wasn't quite sure why she was so pleased by the praise.

"Oh, yes." He let her go to lay back and then yawn and stretch like a satisfied cat. "That was worth every penny."

Jen felt as if someone had poured ice water down her spine.

He'd paid for it. Paid for her. Paid for her services.

"You paid off your guilt," she said quietly.

"What?"

Jen swore under her breath. How could she have let this happen? She'd let herself be seduced by him yet again. Kidded herself that the conversation they'd had in his living room meant anything. What had been resolved? What would change as a result? _Nothing. _

She felt sick.

"I think I'll go home." She got up and gathered her clothes from around the room, so absorbed by her emotions that she didn't even think to feel uncomfortable about walking around naked.

"What are you doing? Where are you going?" She could tell from his tone that he was hurt and confused.

"You don't get it Greg. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep coming back for more when I don't know what's going on. If this is going to be just sex, then…I can't do it. If it's going to be more than that, then I told you…I want to go back to dating, to get to know one another properly."

"Jen, we have a good thing. We get on well. We're hot in bed. You seem to be able to put up with me. And you have great breasts." He was trying to cajole her, joke her out of her decision. "Why does anything have to change?"

"If you can't see why, after everything, then I can't tell you."

The way he shifted in bed told her that he was suddenly angry.

"What kind of ridiculous thing to say is that?" he asked loudly. "I'm not a mind reader Jen. What do you want, a marriage proposal? 'Cause that's not going to happen."

Jen felt as if he'd slapped her. But she buried her hurt, determined to make a change this time.

"I think you'll find I was the one suggesting we go back to dating?" she said pointedly, feeling an awful sense of déjà vu as she donned her clothes while they exchanged angry words.

"Jen, just because there are some things I'm not ready to share with you…"

She paused in buttoning her shirt, looking at him. _Perhaps he got it after all._

"…doesn't mean that we can't keep going…keep building…" He trailed off, seeming lost for words, unable to explain further.

She sat down on the bed, on the furthest corner from him, keeping herself away from temptation.

"Do you love me Greg? Because I love you. I really do, but I've been too scared to tell you, because I don't know what you'd do with that information. How you might use it."

"Use it?"

"To hurt me."

He slumped in the bed, suddenly looking defeated.

She waited, wondering if there was some kind of personal revelation about to come. But no, he just lay there, looking…well…sorry for himself.

Vowing not to cry, Jen got up and left.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **Hi all - thanks so much to everyone who has left reviews. This story ends at Chapter 21, so for those of you lurking, time is running out to leave me some love!

--

* * *

Jen hadn't wanted to come out, but Sarah had whined and pleaded until Jen decided to do it just to shut her up. It had been almost three weeks since she'd last seen Greg, with no word from him at all. Jen missed him to the point that it was a physical ache. When he didn't call, and made no attempts to contact her in any other way, she began to realise that it really was the end of things between them. He didn't care enough about her to say sorry or to make a real attempt to work together on their relationship.

But she'd also realised that the blame was just as much hers as his. She'd never had a chance to work out who Jennifer Edwards was when she wasn't part of Matt-and-Jen. And if she didn't know, how could she expect Greg to? She had all these expectations about how he should treat her…but she'd never let him know how she wanted to be treated.

Her only relationship experience was with one person she'd lived with for a long time, so it had felt natural to take care of Greg the way she had with Matt. But Matt had, for all intents and purposes, been her husband. Greg was someone she'd been sleeping with for a couple of months. The two relationships _should_ have been different. She was the fool that did his laundry and made him lunch and took care of him, he just…let her.

And, now, she was the one that had said she loved him, and he didn't seem to return those feelings. At least, it seemed that way.

Fiona arrived and started loudly pushing the girls toward the door, telling them what a great night they were going to have. At Jen's unenthusiastic shrug, she turned on her.

"You're not still moaning about that limpy doctor are you?"

"Yes, she is," Sarah supplied. Sarah had already had a couple of wines and was quite happily on her way to drunk.

"Oh, forget about him. Plenty of fish and all that. You know, I tried him out, but he turned me down," she said.

Jen gave her a look of horror and even Sarah cringed, Jen could see she thought that Fiona had gone too far.

"Oh, don't worry," Fiona said airily. "It was when you were just starting out sleeping together."

"Right. Thanks Fiona, that makes me feel so much better," Jen said sarcastically and puffed out a breath in irritation. She didn't want to go out, but she didn't want to stay in for yet another night, lying on the couch and feeling sorry for herself. "Where's that wine?"

Sarah picked up the bottle of chardonnay and smiled brightly. "This wine?"

"Yes, that wine. Give it here." Jen held the bottle up to her mouth and took several gulps.

"Right. So where are we going?"

"Let's go to Macy's, that's the place where you met the doctor. It brought you luck once, might do it again!" Fiona said brightly.

"No…" Jen hesitated, not wanting to go anywhere near a bar that Greg might frequent.

"Don't worry," Sarah said, immediately picking up on Jen's hesitation. "We've been there every Friday night for the past couple of weeks and we haven't seen him at all."

"Okay." Jen hiccupped and gulped some more wine straight from the bottle. "It's gonna be a big night girls, a big night."

* * *

--

House did not want to go out drinking, but Wilson had insisted. They were back in the original bar where he'd met Jen, some masochistic part of him choosing it on purpose.

He was already drunk and Wilson was already disapproving. Seeing as it wasn't even nine o'clock, that didn't make for a promising evening.

"…so I heard that he's going to be charged with two counts of second-degree murder and voluntary manslaughter," Wilson said.

"What guy?" House asked, not keeping up with the conversation. He would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself, but he was watching the door, every time it opened waiting to see if it was Jen.

"The father of the twins," Wilson said, irritated. "You haven't been listening to a thing I've been saying have you?"

"Yes, I have. Jessica and Taylor may have a chance of getting justice." He sighed. But they wouldn't really, their lives were already over. Neither would the dad who didn't want to be a dad in the first place. Or the mom who was probably in some institution by now. It was a completely fucked up situation and no one would win. Much like the one he found himself in.

"Who?" Now it was Wilson's turn to be confused.

"The twins," House said exasperatedly.

Wilson narrowed his eyes. "That's their names?"

"Yes." House said, taking a gulp of his drink to avoid Wilson's interrogatory glance. He knew Wilson would pick on the fact that he knew their names. He'd only let them slip because he was drunk. But Wilson chose a different subject to quiz him on.

"So have you heard from Jen?"

"I think," House said evenly, "that falls fairly and squarely into the folder marked 'none of your fucking business'."

"Right."

House could see Wilson was a little taken aback by the comment, but he was trying not to let it show. Wilson had tried to get him to talk about what had happened a number of times now – and House was annoyed that he hadn't yet got the message that it wasn't going to happen.

House hated failing – it wasn't something he wanted to even admit to, let alone discuss and dissect with his best friend. More than anything, that's what he felt had happened with Jen. He'd failed. There were many things he'd do differently if he had the chance. But life didn't come with a rewind button.

"I got some new porn movies if you want to borrow them," Wilson said quickly, changing the subject. "Well, Amber bought them…"

House sighed. Wilson managed to bring that blonde harlot into every conversation he had these days.

"No thanks, I'm not into bondage."

Wilson blushed, House had obviously correctly guessed the content.

"Well, there's one you might like, it's a rip-off of Edward Scissorhands called…"

"Shit." House was looking at the door when he swore viciously and Wilson turned to follow his gaze.

"Oh," Wilson said.

"Yeah, _oh_." House added. Jen had just walked in with her sister Sarah and that girl whose name House had forgotten, the one who'd propositioned him from the sofa.

"Well, we'll just go somewhere else," Wilson said brightly. "Come on, finish up your drink and we'll go."

"No." House said darkly. "She's not going to chase me out of my favourite bar."

"_This_ is your favourite bar?"

"Tonight it is."

He continued to watch the girls until they moved over to the bar. Before they were lost from his sight in the crowd of other Friday night drinkers he saw Sarah notice him. Her eyes widened when their glances met and she frowned at him, then turned away. He could just guess what was going to happen next.

Wilson kept talking, but House paid no attention. He was waiting for the three girls to turn around and walk out, perhaps even stop by their table for a bit of verbal abuse. But the minutes ticked on and all he saw was the three of them collect their drinks and disappear further into the throng of revellers.

"House, why are you being so stubborn?"

"What?" He pulled his attention back to Wilson.

"You obviously like, if not love, the girl. She said she loves you – and lets face it, _that's_ almost a miracle. Why not apologise and try again?"

House bristled at the suggestion that he was impossible to love. It might be true, but it didn't need to be said aloud. He'd been just starting to feel settled with Jen, in a way he hadn't in years, not since Stacy, but Jen didn't want him. Not in the way he wanted her. _Failed_.

"No point. She was lousy in bed anyway."

He saw Wilson roll his eyes. "I doubt that." He gave another of his patented House-suffering sighs. "Another drink then?"

"Absolutely," House replied. "Another two, I think."

* * *

--

Jen couldn't believe the science geek was back. Sarah had found him and practically pushed Jen into his arms. It was like déjà vu, only this time she doubted she'd end up in the bathrooms with Greg pressed against her. And the sadness of that thought actually made her throat ache with unshed tears.

She hadn't cried. Not once. She'd wasted enough tears on Matt and he barely even deserved them. She knew now that she'd never loved anyone the way she'd loved Greg. Probably never would again.

She knew that it was half her fault. She'd done exactly what Sarah had warned her against. Made herself useful and then been hurt that she was being used.

"Earth to Jen, Earth to Jen," Nick said jokingly.

"Sorry Nick, I was lost in thought. These cocktails are lethal," she said, adding a drunken giggle to boost her case.

"Do you want another one? I wouldn't mind getting it for you."

"Thanks, that'd be great." Jen smiled gratefully. She'd been on a massive money-saving exercise since she'd stopped paying for all that pizza at Greg's place and anywhere she could save a few extra dollars was good. It was time for her to get her own place and with the college loans no longer hanging over her head, it was a real possibility.

Sarah came over from where she and Fiona were talking to two sailors.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Sure. A bit drunk, but okay. I'm glad I came out tonight."

"I'm glad you did too. It's nice to see you smile again."

Jen smiled extra-wide for her sister and they laughed together.

"How's the geek?"

Jen sucked in a breath. "Yeah, geeky. But, nice. Easy company."

"Any chance of action tonight?" Sarah asked slyly.

"The only action he's likely to see is me vomiting on his shoes after this next cocktail," Jen laughed.

"Well, keep yourself nice." Sarah waggled a finger at her. "Give me a yell if you want to grab a cab. The sailors are hot, but I'm ready to go when you are."

"Thanks Sarah." Jen gave her sister's arm a squeeze as Nick returned with her cocktail.

"Here you go," Nick said, handing her the sticky pink drink.

"Thanks Nick. I really appreciate it." She took a quick sip. "If you don't mind, I'm just going to the bathroom – I'll be back soon."

"Not like last time," he said. Jen wasn't sure if it was a warning tone or a joking tone in his voice.

"No, not like last time. I can promise you that."

Jen made her way to the bathroom and after a couple of wavering steps realised she was really very drunk. She was entirely grateful for the feeling. It was great to leave herself behind, to forget about her tattered feelings, to forget about her sudden and terrible loneliness.

* * *

--

House watched Jen stagger slightly as she made her way to the bathroom. It brought back the memory of the first night she'd spent at his place – she'd got drunk on whisky and gone to sleep in his bed.

He also remembered pouncing on her in the corridor just outside that bathroom, feeling her up when he'd been just as drunk as she was now. But no, he wouldn't be doing that this time.

Without warning he rose from the table and made his way over to the geek-boy Jen had been talking to. He felt Wilson rise and follow him, but paid no attention.

House leaned drunkenly on the short, bespectacled guy. "She won't put out. Not on the first night. So be prepared for disappointment."

"What?" The guy turned to House looking half scared, half annoyed.

"Just so you know. Wouldn't want you getting your hopes up."

The geek gave him an intense look. "Hey, aren't you that guy…"

Wilson interrupted at that point. "I'm sorry, my friend's a little drunk."

"I broke her in, you know. I ploughed that field, if you know what I mean," House confided with a leering wink. "Taught her everything she knows. And let me tell you – she knows _a lot_. Now, anyway."

"House," Wilson said warningly. "I think it's time we left other people to enjoy their night."

House nodded. "Yes, enjoy. Enjoy." He gave an evil, maniacal laugh, just because he could, and because he knew it would scare the pants off the kid.

"_Now_, House." Wilson physically dragged him away from the bar and back to the little table in the corner where they'd been sitting.

"_What_ was that about?" Wilson asked, still casting glances over his shoulder to the guy House had accosted. "You're lucky he didn't hit you."

"Ha! Like to see him try," House said, bravado running as high as his blood alcohol level.

"House. You have to decide. If you don't want Jen, you need to let her find someone new. If you do want her, then, for God's sake tell her."

"Pff." House tossed his arm to indicate just how much credence he gave to Wilson's opinion. "More drinks."

Wilson rolled his eyes and House knew he was calculating what to do. Trying to make him leave now would cause a scene. Letting him get drunker would result in two possible outcomes: one, an even bigger scene, two, House passing out and Wilson dragging his sorry ass home. House bet Wilson would take his chances on the "no scene" option.

"Okay, _one_ more."

House nodded and smiled, absurdly pleased with how well he knew his friend. "Yes, please Mr Music," he said, using his best little-boy voice.

* * *

--

Jen looked at Nick's floating face and realised she couldn't focus properly. She'd suddenly tipped the scales from being very drunk to being incredibly-can't-stand-up-straight drunk. And from long-ago experience she knew that was quickly followed by throwing-up-drunk and then passed-out drunk. And the morning…well, that didn't even bare thinking about.

She wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but it wasn't the first time she'd gotten drunk without realising it. She tried to count how many drinks she'd had and she was pretty sure it was only two or three cocktails since she'd got to the bar. Not enough, surely, to get her to this point? But then if she didn't know if it was two or three, then perhaps it could just as easily be four…or five…

"Are you okay, Jen?"

_Nick was so sweet. She had to remember that she should count herself lucky that any man was interested in her. She should be being more appreciative of his attention._

"I'm sorry, Nick. I'm really drunk." Jen could hear the slur in her own words.

"Do you want to get some fresh air? Go outside for a bit?"

Jen thought about it. All her thoughts were taking a long time to process. Fresh. Air. Yes. That sounded. Good.

"Yes please."

Nick put an arm around her waist and helped her stand from the bar stool and then led her out the bar. As they walked toward the door, Jen had a flash of Greg's face, but by the time she looked around it was gone and she couldn't focus properly to find him again. She decided it was her imagination, and concentrated instead on putting one foot in front of the other and get herself out of the noisy and suddenly claustrophobic bar.

* * *

--

Wilson had been betting House would get drunk reasonably fast, but he was still annoyingly sober enough to keep up a conversation. Wilson just wanted him to get to the point where he'd be malleable enough to shove into a cab and take home, then his responsibilities would be discharged for the night.

He sighed as House started up a new thread of conversation about parenthood being punishment for sins. It had been a familiar theme for House recently. Wilson knew that the deaths of the twin babies had been hard on House – harder than he'd let anyone see – but it had been almost a month ago and it was time for him to move on.

Just as Wilson was despairing at ever getting home in time to have a little fun with Amber, House jumped up from his seat again.

Wilson sighed. _Not again._

But this time House headed for the door and went outside. Wilson shook his head. He looked up at the ceiling, futilely hoping to find strength there and then rose to follow.

By the time Wilson caught up, House was standing at the corner of the bar, looking down into the alleyway that ran down the side of the building.

"What is it House?" Wilson called, walking up to him.

House put a finger to his lips in an exaggerated, absurd pantomime shush.

"Look," he said quietly, pointing into the alley. "Seems like I taught her well."

Wilson looked down into the darkness and saw two bodies writhing together against the wall.

Jen's voice, slurringly drunk but unmistakable, wafted through the darkness toward them.

"Nick…I…ooh…"

Disgusted, Wilson grabbed House's arm and pulled him away from the alley.

"House, why do you insist on torturing yourself like this?"

One arm around House, Wilson propelled them both back inside the bar. Just inside the door, House stopped in front of another blonde woman.

Wilson looked at her closely – the resemblance to Jen meant she had to be her sister Sarah.

"Where's Jen?" Sarah demanded.

"She's getting what she wants," House said baldly.

"What?" Sarah was clearly insulted and Wilson wondered if she might hit House. Yet again, he intervened to save the day.

"She's in the alley with a…a friend. You might want to check on her, she seemed pretty drunk."

"Thanks," Sarah said abruptly to Wilson, turning again to House and sneering at him before marching away from them and heading outside.

"Come on House, it's time to go home."

"No. No." House shook his head.

Wilson knew from the stubborn tone there was no way he was getting House to do anything he didn't want to.

"One more drink, then." Maybe the next one would be the magical one that turned stubborn House into I'll-do-anything-you-want House. Yeah right, and he was the pope and would lead mass on Sunday.

"Yes, more drink. More lovely whisky."


	19. Chapter 19

House downed the whisky Wilson had bought him and knew he was very quickly sliding down the slope into unconscious drunk. That was exactly where he wanted to be, but not here. He wanted that final blow to come from a glass at home where he could collapse on the sofa and throw up on himself in peace.

"Time to go," he announced and chuckled at Wilson's startled expression. It was what he'd been waiting for all night, so he shouldn't have been that surprised.

"Okay. Good. Cab? Yes, of course cab." Wilson was talking to himself, starting to sound a little drunk as well. Ha, House thought with a strong sense of schadenfreude, at least he'd brought a casualty along for the ride with him.

They made their way to the door and the bright, flashing red and blue lights that greeted them as soon as they stepped outside the dark bar made him blink and hold a protective hand up to his eyes. He'd just adjusted focus enough to realise there was both ambulance and police cars in front of him before a hellcat with blonde hair launched herself at him.

"Bastard!" she screamed. "You fucking asshole! You did this to her!"

Her fists beat against his chest and although she was slight, her anger gave her extra power. House's cane clattered to the ground and he fell back, staggering, until he was against the wall of the bar. She kept pummelling him, kicking his shins and smacking her fists against his chest and face. House put up his hands to protect himself from her onslaught.

"You selfish, arrogant asshole!"

It took only a few seconds, but suddenly they were surrounded by uniformed police, one grabbing and restraining the blonde, another restraining House.

"Hey, I didn't do anything!" he protested. "She was the one who…"

The cop twisted his arm up behind his back and House broke off with a grunt of pain.

"Is this the guy?" The cop asked. "Is he the one she was drinking with?"

House looked over and recognised the blonde wildcat was Sarah. And Sarah's shirt was covered with blood. He had a sudden sinking feeling that was nothing to do with his drunkenness and thought he might puke.

"No, he wasn't the one she was drinking with," she said, a little quieter, before her anger returned in force. "But he was the one who should have saved her!"

She leapt against the restraining arms of the police officer. "You're supposed to be a doctor!" she screamed. "And you didn't even noticed she was drugged? You go out with her for three months – you practically live with her! – and you don't know that she would never, _ever_, go into an alley with a guy she hardly knows? You bastard!"

The cop pulled Sarah away and let the restraining hold go, wrapping an arm around her in a comforting way and taking her toward the ambulance.

House's arm was beginning to ache from the cop's firm hold but before he had a chance to even open his mouth to speak, Wilson pushed himself into the situation.

"Officer, my friend is certainly drunk, but he had nothing to do with what happened."

"What _did_ happen?" House asked, angry now and starting to lose patience with being restrained.

"We're just establishing that sir," the cop said, obviously the "sir" tasting very nasty in his mouth. "We'd like you to stay around for a moment so we can hear your side of things." The cop pulled on House's arm again to ensure he had his attention. "If I let you go, are you gonna play nice?" he asked.

"Sure." House said between gritted teeth.

"Take care of your friend," he said warningly to Wilson. "Don't want either of you getting into any more trouble tonight."

"That's fine officer, we'll wait."

House was furious with Wilson's compliance, but bitter past experience with the wrong side of the law told him to bite his tongue. Seeming to feel House's resistance drop, the cop let him go. He left Wilson and House standing out the front of the bar just as two paramedics accompanied a stretcher from the alley to the ambulance.

"Wilson, find out what's going on." House said, rubbing his arm to restore the circulation. He couldn't do it himself. And he realised it was because he was afraid.

"I don't know House, those cops said to…" Wilson said, bending down to retrieve House's cane and hand it back to him.

House rounded on him, bringing every threatening gesture he'd ever learned into play.

"I don't care what the cops said. Go and find out what happened."

Wilson seemed to shrink from him and eventually sighed.

"Promise me you won't go anywhere."

In answer, House awkwardly sat down on the pavement, wincing at the cold concrete. It would quickly make his leg ache to stay there, but it seemed to satisfy Wilson.

He watched as Wilson walked away and then stared down at the concrete, spinning his cane in his hands, waiting for the report back. Trying hard not to jump to conclusions. After only a few minutes that felt like hours, Wilson returned, just as the ambulance sirens started and the vehicle drove away.

"She's been stabbed," Wilson said, knowing there was no point sugar-coating. "There are defensive knife wounds on her hands and she's been stabbed in the stomach and neck. Obviously lost a lot of blood. They're taking her to Princeton Plainsboro and I called the ER to let them know she was on the way."

House frowned. He knew there would be more.

Wilson shrugged in response. "That's all I know; it's all they'd tell me," he said helplessly. "But I noticed her purse on the gurney."

House nodded. They both knew what that meant – he definitely hadn't been trying to rob her, although it was naïve to think that might have been his motivation anyway.

"The geek?" House asked.

"They don't have him, but they're searching for him now. Sarah gave them a full description before she went off in the ambulance with Jen. They'll follow up with her in the hospital and they want to talk to us too."

House rose with a grunt from both the pain in his leg and the spinning of his head. "They can talk to us at the hospital as well."

"I don't think so House…"

"Go, talk to them, convince them. You're better at that than I am." House knew that Wilson wasn't going to be intimidated into doing his bidding again. The only weapon left in his arsenal was flattery.

Wilson gave House a sympathetic look that told him his ploy had won, and went back over to the officer to discuss the situation. He watched as Wilson handed over a business card and showed his hospital ID. Whatever he said, he then saw the cop nod and wave him off. They had a crime scene to secure and a criminal to find, it would be hours before they'd be ready to speak to witnesses.

"Come on, we can get a cab down the road," Wilson said as he returned.

"Was she okay, Wilson?" House asked quietly as they began to walk away from the scene.

"I don't know House," Wilson answered sadly. "I don't know."

They passed a some trash on the road and House put out a hand on Wilson's arm.

"Just a sec," he said, then turned and vomited violently into a trashcan.

Wilson shook his head. "That was probably fifty bucks worth of whisky, House."

"Yeah, I know." House wiped his mouth and nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

--

Wilson took House up to his office, not sure what else to do. He made him sit in the long recliner chair and promise not to move until he came back. Wilson then made his way down to the ER, pleasantly surprised to find Cameron on duty and spoke to her at length, getting an update on Jen and some supplies for House.

He returned to the office with an IV bag of dextrose solution, a strong coffee and some Vicodin and anti-nausea tablets. And an icepack.

"Hey, House, wake up." Wilson pulled House's desk chair over next to House and shook his arm gently.

"I'm awake," House grumbled, opening his eyes to watch as Wilson prepared the IV. "What are you doing?"

"Old med school trick," Wilson confessed. "Your hangover will be done in an hour or so, instead of the next couple of days. Roll your sleeve up. You're lucky Cameron was in the ER and she understood the…uh…special circumstances."

House rolled up his sleeve and Wilson inserted the IV, hanging the bag from the coat rack that he pulled over to the chair.

"Put this on your face." He handed House the icepack.

"What? Why?" House looked confused.

"I think Sarah gave you a shiner. Your right eye. Put the pack on it."

House winced as he held the cold pack to his face, seeming not to have noticed the pain there until Wilson told him about it.

"And I've got Vicodin and Compazine, a coffee and an old-fashioned glass of water. Here."

House took the glass and swallowed the meds quickly. He lay back and closed his eyes and took a few levelling breaths. Wilson thought he was probably feeling nauseous again. He rose to grab the trash can from under House's desk, just in case.

"So, what aren't you telling me?" House asked, without opening his eyes.

"She's in surgery," Wilson began, knowing exactly what House was asking. "The stomach wound isn't too bad. It might have nicked the bowel, but they won't know until they get in there. Otherwise it was pretty clean and they think they can get it stitched up easily. The neck was more serious, the knife got her carotid. From the sounds of things, he was holding the knife to her throat when Sarah interrupted. He sliced Jen and ran away. If Sarah hadn't put pressure on it straight away, Jen would have bled out. She has lost a lot of blood and was tachycardic when they took her up to surgery."

House snorted and Wilson knew what he was thinking. Her injuries were almost identical to his when he was shot. Except for one thing.

"And?" House asked.

"She wasn't raped," Wilson said quietly. "Sarah interrupted him. He didn't have time."

House just nodded and kept his eyes closed.

"They're paging me when she's out of surgery."

Wilson sat back, feeling slightly dizzy. He probably could do with an IV bag himself, but at least he could go home. House needed to be awake and sober to deal with the fall out in the next few hours.

Wilson's mind kept replaying the image of House's comic shushing as they both looked around the corner of the bar and into the alley. The bastard probably had the knife against Jen right as they were watching. If only…

"House…" Wilson started.

"Don't," House interrupted warningly.

"Don't what?" Wilson asked, wondering how on earth House could know what he was going to say.

"Don't 'what if' me now. I can't deal with it."

"Yes, but…"

"Wilson," House interrupted. "You can lecture me halfway into next week if you want. But tomorrow, okay? Tomorrow, when we know she's gonna be all right."

Wilson sighed. "Yeah, tomorrow."


	20. Chapter 20

The two doctors sat quietly, resting, the fluids slowly dripping and reviving House. It was more than an hour before Wilson's pager went off, and they both jumped at the loud noise.

"She's out of surgery," he said, reading the message as he rose to the desk to make a call.

Before he could pick up the phone, there was a quiet knock on the door and Chase walked in wearing surgical scrubs.

"Thought I'd come give you the update in person," he said.

House didn't know how to feel about the fact that Chase had been part of the surgery on Jen. He was pleased, because he knew that Chase was good and he wanted that for Jen. But for some reason he was also embarrassed; his relationship – or non-relationship – with Jen was private and now Cameron had treated her in the ER and Chase had operated on her. He felt as if his privacy had been invaded.

Wilson gave House an odd look and House realised that with all those thoughts going on in his brain he'd just been staring at Chase, and hadn't said a word.

"Thanks Chase," Wilson said, jumping in to save him yet again. "How'd it go?"

Chase's eyes flicked to Wilson when he spoke, but he looked back to House to give his news.

"She's doing well. The stomach wound was pretty shallow and didn't do any major damage, although she might need some physical therapy because her inguinal ligament was damaged. We think it happened because he was trying to cut her panties off."

House stayed perfectly still, holding Chase's gaze steadily. The only sign he was listening was the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.

"Her neck wound was more serious. It just nicked the carotid which was the only reason she didn't bleed out. She's stable now, but she's had a total of three units, one in the ER and two during surgery."

House nodded, as if Chase was giving an update on any other patient.

"I'm going down to see her sister now and tell her," Chase continued. "Want to come?"

"Not really, no." House began fiddling with the IV line in his arm and saw Chase's look of surprise as he noticed the infusion for the first time. "But I will. Wilson, help get this out of me."

After extracting House's hangover cure, the three of them made their way down to the recovery floor where House quickly spotted Sarah waiting anxiously on a sofa. She looked up and saw them making their way over to her and jumped to her feet.

She marched up to House and he could see her anger had in no way abated.

"Did I call you an asshole enough yet?" Her voice wasn't as loud as it had been on the street, but it still caused most of the people in the vicinity to turn around and look. An attractive blonde woman in blood-stained clothes screaming at a dishevelled man accompanied by two doctors was an interesting sight. House didn't normally care about stuff like that, but this time he really wished they didn't have an audience. "How dare you come here and think that helping her now is good enough. If you really cared you wouldn't…"

She suddenly broke off and pointed a shaky finger to his face. "Did I do that?"

"Uh, yeah, probably," he said, not sure what else to say, pressing his hand gently to his swelling eye.

"Oh." The anger on her face suddenly turned into grief and she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his chest.

Wilson looked ready to jump in and separate them before he heard her loud sobs.

"Oh my God, how could I have let this happen to Jen!" she cried.

House stood unmoving, feeling more uncomfortable than he could remember. Eventually he lifted one hand and started patting her on the back awkwardly.

"She's going to be okay, Sarah," he said, staring at Wilson and Chase alternately, his eyes pleading with one of them to intervene.

Before they could, Fiona came rushing out of the elevators and over to them. House gratefully handed the sobbing Sarah off to her friend and Chase invited them both to sit down.

With Sarah comforted by Fiona and both of them occupied by Chase, House stepped away and headed into the recovery area. He could pick Jen immediately, lying in the second bed from the right, the left side of her neck swaddled in gauze dressings.

He walked over and picked up her chart, reading through it somewhat pointlessly because it only reiterated what Chase had already told him. She was going to be fine. Sore for a while, and definitely scarred for life, but fine.

He put the chart down and stood staring at her, feeling helpless and guilty.

Chase walked in, one arm supportively on Sarah's shoulder.

Sarah stood still, seeming in shock at her sister's condition.

"Why don't you go home and change," Chase suggested to her quietly, motioning to her blood-stained top. "She won't be awake for a while yet. House will stay with her." He gave House a stern look, and House had the strange feeling of their positions having been reversed – after spending so long telling Chase what to do, now the shoe was on the other foot.

House was prepared for Sarah to object, to tell Chase that House was to never come near her or her sister again, but she just nodded mutely and let Chase lead her out of the room.

* * *

--

Before Sarah could leave, the police arrived and she, House and Wilson all had to be interviewed. By the time that had happened and Fiona had taken Sarah home to rest and change, Jen had been moved out of recovery and into a room on the third floor.

House told Wilson to go home, grateful for his assistance, but now needing to be alone. He guessed that being alone in a room with an unconscious woman would do.

He dozed in the chair next to her bed for a while, still slightly drunk and hung-over but feeling far better for Wilson's treatment. He woke up with a start, not sure how long he'd been asleep, and found Jen awake and staring at him.

"I didn't expect…" she said, her voice a croaky whisper.

"Don't talk," he said. "I know it's a cliché, but really, don't talk. You need to keep your neck still."

"What…?" she said, and he knew she was asking what happened.

"I told you, shut up." His words were harsh, but his tone was gentle. He got up with a groan and stretched out his leg, taking a few steps around the room to straighten out. It was also a help to turn his back to her for a few moments and gather his thoughts.

He turned back and perched on the edge of her bed, careful to be on the side away from her abdomen wound. He stopped himself just in time from reaching for one of her hands, remembering that they were bandaged from the cuts she'd sustained defending herself.

"Looks like Nick The Geek wasn't that harmless after all," he said.

Her eyes filled with tears and he saw that she tried to nod, flinching a little from either the bandaging or the pain.

"Does your neck hurt?" he asked. "Blink once for yes and twice for no."

She blinked once and looked scared. He realised that all his "no talking" instructions might have given her the wrong idea.

"You're fine," he said, "you're going to be perfectly fine. You'll be able to talk – just not right now while it's so soon after you had surgery."

He saw the look of relief in her eyes and then remembered that she'd blinked once to indicate yes, she was in pain.

"Do you need more pain relief?" he asked.

She blinked once.

He got up and adjusted the machine controlling her meds and then rounded to the end of her bed to make the appropriate notation on her chart. As he did so he began to talk, telling her about the surgery, her wounds, what would happen as she recovered, that she'd be as good as new in a couple of weeks.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed and looked back into her eyes, tears brimming at their edges. He remembered looking into those lovely brown eyes as they filled with passion and desire and care and wondered if he'd ever get to see that again.

"Do you remember it?" he asked.

She blinked three times.

"I figure that means 'sort of'."

She blinked once and a couple of tears finally spilled over and ran down her cheeks. He saw the question in her eyes.

"He didn't touch you with anything other than the knife," he said quietly, not entirely sure that was completely true, but it was true enough.

She closed her eyes and a look of relief flitted over her face. After a moment she looked at him again and raised her hand towards him, seeming surprised to find it wrapped in bandages. He circled her wrist with his fingers.

"You fought him off and your hand got cut," he explained. He began to rub his thumb up and down the inside of her wrist, not realising he was doing it until her saw her gaze drop to watch. He raised her wrist to his mouth and pressed his lips against her pulse point, not entirely sure what it was that compelled him to do it.

"I'm so sorry Jen. I was…should have…stopped him."

She blinked once. He wasn't entirely sure if it was a "yes" or if she was just blinking her tears away, but he figured it was time for him to go. She had every right to be as mad as hell with him, and he couldn't deal with that.

"I'll leave you. Sarah's going to be back soon." He began to rise from the bed.

"No." Her voice was so croaky he could barely make it out, but he had no trouble interpreting her attempt to sit up and grab him before he could leave. She gasped in pain and fell back.

"Don't be an idiot," he said, pressing down on the top of her arm. "Lie still."

"Don't go," she said, in a whisper so quiet it was almost no more than a breath. "Please."

He took a deep breath, wondering what to do. She'd just been through something traumatic and he could understand that she didn't want to be left alone. But he had no right to hang around her bedside like a family member, they weren't together. At least, he thought they weren't – but then they hadn't actually broken up, had they?

Making up his mind, he gave her a curt nod. "Just a minute. I'll be back in a minute."

He walked out, spoke to a nurse and then went to the bathroom. By the time he returned the nurse had done as he had asked and put a soft chair and footstool close by the bed.

He sat down heavily and lifted his leg up on the stool.

"I'll wait with you until Sarah arrives."

She smiled weakly and her eyes drifted closed. The additional morphine was probably kicking in about now, he thought. That was probably why she looked so relieved.

* * *

--

When Jen first woke up she felt disoriented, not entirely sure where she was or how she'd got there. But then she felt the itchy uncomfortableness of bandages on her neck, and a strange tightness in her belly. The feelings reminded her that she'd been hurt. She'd been hurt and she was in hospital and Greg had looked after her. He'd talked to her, told her what happened, but she couldn't quite recall the details…She did remember he'd told her she was going to be fine, perfectly fine: he'd said that a lot.

She cast her mind back, but the last thing she clearly remembered was swigging from the wine bottle at home with Sarah and Fiona before they'd gone out. Everything after that was a blank.

She opened her eyes and wasn't quite prepared for the sight that greeted her. Greg was lying in a chair next her, his legs propped up, asleep. Sarah was standing over him, her hands on her hips, staring at him with undisguised hatred.

Why Sarah would be looking at him that way was a puzzle to Jen. Greg had looked after her. Why would that make Sarah mad?

Then Greg opened his eyes and Jen could tell that seeing Sarah standing over him like that had startled him. He looked…no, Jen didn't believe it, but he actually looked _scared_. Maybe not scared. But guilty.

"Get out," Sarah said, her voice quiet but vicious.

"I'm going," Greg said compliantly – a tone Jen had certainly never heard from him – and he sat up and struggled to get his leg to the floor. Jen cringed a little on his behalf, she knew how difficult it could be for him some mornings if his leg seized up on him, and last night he'd been sleeping in a chair. He'd definitely be in pain.

"Sarah, I couldn't have known…" he began as he grabbed his cane and painfully rose to his feet. It was then that Jen noticed he had a black eye. _Where had that come from?_

"No? Really? Or were you just too drunk?" Sarah's voice was becoming more shrill. "Jen goes off into an alley with a guy and that seems perfectly normal to you? More than that – it seems like a spectator sport?"

"Well, she did it with me," he answered and Jen could tell he was making an effort to stay calm.

"What?"

"The first night I met her we went down an alley to a bar…"

"Hey," Jen whispered, trying to interrupt them. Her voice was croaky but it didn't hurt too much.

Neither of them took any notice of her.

"You were the reason she was there in the first place," Sarah argued. "If you weren't too stubborn to apologise, and knew how to treat her like a person instead of a maid, she wouldn't have been out picking up guys."

Jen knew that Sarah shouldn't have said that. She watched the dark clouds gather on Greg's face and knew that the storm was about to break. "Hey," she tried again, trying valiantly to get more volume into her voice, but still neither of them moved from their oppositional stances.

"I wasn't the one who dressed her up and took her out, Sarah, I think you'll find that was you. And wasn't it you who set her up with that guy anyway? So who's fault is this really?"

Jen could see that his barbs hit home as her sister swallowed hard and tears began welling in her eyes.

"You're the Friday-night-shag girl, Sarah," Greg continued. "I think it's just bizarre that this hasn't happened to you. Oh, but wait, it has, hasn't it? Only _you_ got off easy."

"Stop it!" Jen mustered every ounce of energy she had to shout at them, and even then it was only a loud whisper, but it pulled them up in their tracks and they both turned to her.

"Jen!" Sarah was the first to recover from her shock and she took the couple of steps to the bed and leant over to pull her into a fierce hug.

"Ah!" Jen couldn't help crying out: Sarah had carefully avoided her neck, but she was leaning right on her stomach and her weight sent a shaft of pain shooting into Jen's gut.

"Get away," Greg said crossly, pulling on Sarah's arm. "Stupid woman, you're leaning on her abdomen wound." He blew out an annoyed breath. "Let me check you haven't done any damage."

Sarah pulled away and seemed even closer to tears. She backed away from the bed and stood mutely against the wall. It seemed to Jen that Sarah didn't mind arguing with Greg, but she wasn't going to take on Dr House.

Greg pulled the blankets away from her and lifted the light hospital gown up carelessly, exposing her from the tops of her thighs to her breasts. Jen realised she was completely naked, but he didn't seem to take any notice.

"This dressing needs changing anyway," he muttered to himself. He looked up at her and Jen couldn't read his expression. It was his poker face, impassive and as blank as her memory. "Let me get a nurse. Don't move."

He turned and walked out, returning quickly with a nurse who quickly re-positioned both the blankets and Jen's gown so only the necessary skin was exposed. Jen smiled at her gratefully. The nurse then removed the dressing and Greg checked her over, prodding her in a couple of places and leaning down to look at her wound closely. He nodded, seemingly satisfied and the nurse went to work replacing the dressing.

Greg picked up the chart from the end of her bed and made a few notations.

"Put her on three milligrams of gentamicin," he instructed the nurse without looking up. "Looks like there might be traces of infection – who knows where that knife had been."

He replaced the chart and glanced quickly at Sarah who was still standing against the wall, almost in shock. He looked back at Jen and she gave him a weak smile. As she was about to thank him, he turned and walked to the door. He opened it and then turned back to face her briefly.

"Look after yourself, Jen," he said, and then left without looking back.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **Hi everyone, Well final chapter here we are! And when you get to the bottom of the page, keep going, because there's a sneaky little epilogue too.

Thank you so much to everyone for your lovely and encouraging comments and reviews. I was so excited to get 100 reviews and now we're over 200! And have a truly global audience! All you people who've had the story on alert but are yet to leave a review, this is your time to shine!

I'm so thrilled that Jen has struck a chord with so many people. Jen is a little bit me and a little bit of lots of women I know. I hope you like how her story ties up.

--

* * *

Sarah took a long time to tell Jen what had happened to her. In fact, she went into so much detail about who was where and who said what when, that Jen actually began to get a little bored. She had no memory whatsoever of anything between leaving home and waking up in the hospital. Even the memories of talking to Greg when she'd first woken up were fuzzy, although she knew it had happened, remembered that she'd been confused and upset and he'd stayed with her. Her memory really only kicked in properly from the time she'd opened her eyes and seen Sarah and Greg fighting.

It felt like a story about something that had happened to someone else. She had to keep reminding herself that it was her, that the woman who'd been drugged and stabbed and almost raped was _her_, Jennifer Edwards. And it had been Nick! The geek! How could it have been _him_? That bit made her feel a little sick. But Sarah had been sure to tell her that she'd still been wearing her all her clothes and her underwear when she'd run over to her in the alley, that there was no way his geeky penis had been anywhere near her. Still, he'd probably kissed her and that was enough to make her stomach turn.

Sarah had been very clear about Greg's role in everything – including how he'd got that black eye. She clearly felt that Jen wouldn't have been stabbed if Greg had stopped Nick earlier. But Jen wasn't so sure. She hadn't even realised he'd been at the bar. She wondered what would have happened if she had. And if he had interrupted? Even in her drugged state, Jen wondered if she would have insisted on going off with Nick just to spite him.

Her surgeon visited – a very good looking doctor that Sarah had immediately begun flirting with – interrupting Sarah's story just at the point where she'd had to give her statement to the police. Jen was relieved.

Dr Chase was polite to Sarah but seemed oblivious to her flirting. That was unusual. Jen didn't hold anything against her sister for trying – flirting was like breathing for Sarah and Dr Chase was extremely good looking.

But he seemed far more interested in her. He was very professional, checked both her wounds carefully – without exposing her the way Greg had – asked her serious questions and gave her a comprehensive overview of her surgery and what she could expect in her recovery. It was nothing specific, but he just seemed _curious_.

Then Jen realised. The fundraiser. He'd probably been there and heard her referred to as Mrs House. She was a patient at Greg's hospital. After the fuss at the fundraiser, no doubt there'd be a stream of curious people popping in to see her. To stare at the curiosity that was the woman who was paired up with the cantankerous Greg House. Well, who _used to be,_ anyway.

In the early afternoon, Jen made Sarah go home. She was feeling tired and could see that Sarah was clearly exhausted as well. Jen was also tired of Sarah's continuous apologies. She'd said the word "sorry" a hundred times already and had bought a stack of magazines Jen wasn't interested in and a heap of chocolate Jen didn't feel up to eating.

* * *

--

Wilson had slept for most of the morning and sat on the couch feeling guilty for most of the afternoon. In the end Amber yelled at him and shoved him out the door, telling him to go hang out with his partner in crime who would, in her words, "put up with this bullshit".

Wilson couldn't help thinking that Jen's condition was really his fault. Last night, House had been too drunk to know his ass from his elbow. Besides he was in love and feeling rejected by Jen, so outside of anything to do with medicine, he hadn't thinking clearly for the past couple of weeks. It was Wilson who was the responsible one. Yeah, he'd had a few drinks, but he should have been more alert, should have gone to check that Jen was okay instead of being caught up in disapproving of House's voyeurism.

But instead of following Amber's instructions and going to see House he went to the hospital and found Jen's room. She was alone and asleep and Wilson almost left, but he decided to hang around for a while. At least then he could go visit House afterwards and give him an update on her.

She woke up only a few minutes later, just as he was reading an important article about Brad and Angelina in a magazine from a pile next to her bed.

"Hi," she said, her voice sleepy and a little croaky.

"Hi. How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I think." She blinked and stretched, wincing a little as her body responded to the movement. "What's the time?"

Wilson checked his watch. "Just after six."

"It's night time. Is it still Saturday?"

Wilson looked at her, concerned that she might be disoriented.

"I'm okay," she said in response to his frown. "I just don't know how long I was asleep. And it's dark, so I guess it's six pm, and I also guess you wouldn't be here if it was six am."

She gave him a weak smile.

"Yes, it's Saturday. Jen, I'm so sorry..." he began.

She held up her bandaged hand to stop him and the sight of the gauze made Wilson feel even guiltier.

"No, don't," she said. "I've heard that word enough today. I really don't want to hear it again, especially from someone who really had nothing to do with this at all."

"But Jen, I was there, I should have..."

"Should have, could have, would have, none of it makes any difference," she said breezily.

He nodded, not sure if she was really as blasé about it all as she sounded.

She gave him a serious look. "James, can I ask you a medical question?"

"Sure."

"I don't remember. I don't remember anything. Is that normal?"

"You mean from last night?"

"Yeah. I know when Sarah was drugged, she had a blank space in her memory and it's never come back. I just want to know if that's what's happened to me, or if it's something else, if I've..." She trailed off.

"Blocked it out?" Wilson guessed.

"Yes." She sighed heavily.

"Let me check." He got up and looked at her chart. "Well, it's hard to know definitively but your tox screen says you had a significant amount of GHB in your system. That interferes with short-term memory. It's entirely likely that your memory will never come back."

She looked relieved, but then frowned again.

"How's Greg?" she asked him.

"I don't know. I was planning on going over to see him after I saw you."

"Oh." She paused and looked as if she was trying to work out how to say something. "But...how _is_ he?"

Her emphasis let him know exactly what she was asking.

Wilson sat down, feeling a heavy weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He knew exactly how miserable House had been for the past few weeks. Of course, he hadn't told Wilson why, but Wilson had noticed the changes that indicated Jen was no longer around – fewer phone calls, messier clothes, more moochy House hanging around his office being irritating. Wilson had a feeling that what he said next might well determine his friend's future happiness.

"What exactly happened between you guys anyway?" he asked, hoping to get more information.

"He didn't tell you?" Jen asked. Then she gave a sad laugh and answered her own question. "Of course he didn't tell you."

She lay still for a while, staring up at the ceiling. Then began talking softly, almost as if she was talking to herself.

"I feel guilty about that last fight we had. Some of the problems we had _were_ his fault. But I was just as much to blame. I was too easy, too much of a pushover. But I was so grateful for him, for what he did, for the way he made me feel. I'd never had anyone, been with anyone who…" she broke off and bit her lip, turning her face away but not before Wilson could see the blush rising on her cheeks. He could figure out what she meant. The way House talked about sex, Wilson was never sure if it was real or bravado. He guessed he knew the answer now.

After a moment she turned back to stare at the ceiling and continued talking. "So then I tried to assert myself, get my power again, but what I thought was taking a step _back_, I think he saw as a step _away_. I don't know why I didn't see that at the time. He's..." She sighed and then turned to Wilson and gave him a very sad look. "He's much more fragile than most people think, isn't he?"

"Uh-huh." Wilson had to hand it to Jen – she had House's number. "He's probably somewhere now beating himself up about what happened to you."

"Oh no, Wilson don't let him do that. It's no one's fault really. Except that awful Nick. And probably my own – I should never have accepted drinks from a stranger."

"Jen, you weren't to know," Wilson immediately jumped in to reassure her, he hadn't meant to make her blame herself.

"No, I suppose..." she sounded uncertain.

Wilson patted her arm and she turned to look at him directly.

"You know…" She took a deep breath. "I actually think everything that has happened in the past couple of months is a blessing. Meeting Greg was wonderful – he helped me more than he'll ever know. My life needed to be kick-started and if there's one thing Greg knows how to do it's give something a kick..."

She chuckled good-naturedly and Wilson had to join in. Then she sobered.

"But James, I need to take that start and keep going. If this experience has taught me anything it's that I have to make my own life and stop waiting for someone to give it to me. I could have died last night – and I..." Her eyes filled with tears and she stopped speaking for a moment to compose herself. "...My life so far has always been about what other people think about me. Whether they like me enough, whether they think I'm good enough.

"Greg is important to me, I care about him, I think I probably even love him, but right now..? I need to work out for myself that _I like me_ and that I'm good enough."

She swallowed hard. "It's too much to ask him to love me enough for both of us. It's too much pressure to put on someone else."

She paused and looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

Wilson took a deep breath. "You're telling me so that I can look after House when you tell him it's over," he guessed.

She looked at him at first slightly surprised, but Wilson wasn't sure if she was surprised by his comment or by the fact that he was right. She nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

"Jen, I don't know if my opinion means anything, but you are really good for him. I guess he's just not any good for you." Wilson sighed. He wondered if House was good for anyone.

"No!" Jen objected. "It's not that at all." She struggled to sit up a little and Wilson was about to get concerned about her moving too much when she gave up and fell back in the bed with a sigh. She took a couple of deep breaths and then looked at him with a piercing gaze. "You have to make sure he understand this bit, Wilson. He's very good for me. _I'm _ the one who's not good for me. I need to go fix that. Once that happens, maybe Greg and I…maybe we can…" She sniffed. "Make sure he understands, won't you?" she pleaded.

Wilson nodded. He felt a stab of pity for House, but even through the veil of tears that had begun to cloud Jen's eyes he could see a determination and commitment to her decision.

He got up to leave.

"Take care of yourself Jen, won't you?" he said gently. He felt a mix of pity and admiration for her. And felt ridiculously sad for House. He knew this would be hard for him.

"Thanks, James. Tell him I'm fine. And tell him I'm sorry that Sarah hit him. And that after I've finished with guilt-tripping her, she will be too."

Wilson smiled at that. "Will do." He got to the door and turned back. "Good luck Jen. I hope you find what you're looking for. And I hope our paths cross again."

She smiled. "Thanks. I have a feeling they will."


	22. Epilogue

**Change of Heart**

**Epilogue – three months later**

Jen knelt down to put the final book on the shelf with an immense sense of satisfaction. She stood back to admire her work – groaning as she rose to her feet. Her belly still gave her a shooting pain if she twisted the wrong way, even though it had been three months since she'd got out of hospital and she'd been vigilant with her therapy.

She looked around her and smiled with satisfaction. After a month of effort, her small one-bedroom apartment was almost complete. The bookshelves that covered most of the walls might have been claustrophobic to some people, but for Jen it felt like a haven. Her own little library to feel safe in. Sure, the kitchen was tiny and she had to squeeze past the bed to get into the small en suite bathroom, but it was hers and it was home. Her very first home.

She opened a bottle of wine, deciding to celebrate the unpacking of the final box of books.

Sitting back on the bright red armchair that she'd bought from a second-hand furniture store, Jen took a sip of her wine and her fingers fluttered on the scar on her neck. It had healed well, but it was still quite an ugly, jagged, red mark – a constant reminder of what might have happened that she saw whenever she looked in the mirror. She thought that if it wasn't for her work, she'd probably be a lot more upset about it than she was. But her kids didn't care, and often had far worse scars and injuries, so Jen had matter-of-factly had to deal with it and get on with her life.

She drank her wine and sighed. She knew she was doing exactly the right thing, she was exactly where she should be. But still, it was a little lonely. She couldn't help remembering those blue eyes and gentle fingers and wondered how he'd react to her scar. Would he kiss it? Ignore it? She wasn't sure, but her mind liked to imagine the various scenarios that might have played out if he'd been around.

Her cell phone rang as she sat contemplating. She smiled, figuring it would be Sarah, checking in on her – again. Sarah was pleased that Jen was striking out on her own, but worried in a mother-hen way that was equal parts adorable and annoying.

She picked up the phone and her stomach dropped when she saw the caller ID. _Greg House_? It was as if her imagination had conjured him into reality. Why would he be calling? Now? After three months? Before she'd even considered whether or not to answer, her fingers had pressed the little green phone on the keypad to accept the call and she held the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi, uh, it's Greg." He sounded a bit uncertain. Not at all like his usual confident self.

"Yeah, I know. Hi Greg." Jen tried to run through possible reasons for his call. Something to do with the hospital? Or had he changed his mind and wanted his money back?

"So, how are you?"

"Fine thanks, how are you?" Jen answered automatically, still on autopilot as her brain raced to catch up. _Greg. She was talking to Greg again. Was that a good idea? Would she possibly ever stop wanting this man?_

"No, I mean, how _are_ you?"

"Oh." Jen swallowed, nervous. She remembered how anxious he could make her, the way he'd stare at her with those blue eyes and intense gaze, how her insides had melted when he smiled. And then the terrible blankness of his face in the hospital when she'd tried to explain, tried to tell him why they couldn't be together. He was the right man, but it was the wrong time. Star-crossed lovers and all that. She could see him formulating an argument and prepared herself for the onslaught, but then he'd shrugged, which was almost worse. He gave up.

Those first few weeks without him, knowing he wasn't there because she'd decided he shouldn't be, were torture. So many nights she lay awake trying to talk herself into excuses to find herself in his neighbourhood or at the hospital. But she knew, somewhere deep inside herself that this was right.

Shaking her head, she dragged herself back to the present and tried to put together a coherent answer for him.

"I'm doing...well," she said eventually. "I'm all healed and finished my therapy, which is great. It barely even hurts now. Oh, and I've moved into my own place. I could afford to, thanks to…well, you know…" Jen still felt a little embarrassed about all that money he'd put out to pay off her loans.

"Good, that's good. I'm glad."

"It's great to have my own space. It's helped me to do a lot of thinking," she said, hesitantly, not entirely sure what she should be saying.

"Yeah? Me too." He paused. "I miss you."

Jen swallowed hard. _That_ was unexpected. In the absence of anything else to say, she joked back, "No you don't. You just miss having your dinner cooked and your laundry done."

He didn't laugh. "Jen, look at how I was living before we met. Do you really think that stuff meant anything to me? You did that for yourself, not me."

He was completely right and Jen wanted to kick herself for how long it had taken her to work that out. And to work out that _he'd_ known it all along.

"You miss having my legs spread for your every night," she said, biting her bottom lip after she spoke, not quite sure where the words had come from.

And at that he did chuckle. "Well, _yeah_, I do miss that. But I also missed your insightful and learned comments on world politics, the state of the nation and whether or not _Criminal Minds_ jumped the shark when Mandy Patinkin left."

"Well, that's an easy one." She laughed, but even she could hear that it was false.

There was a silence that stretched on, until Jen couldn't bear it any longer.

"Was there something you wanted?" she asked. She superstitiously crossed her fingers, hoping he wasn't going to ask for the money back or that he'd just called her in a drunken moment to argue. But he didn't sound drunk – just the opposite in fact.

"There's…" He cleared his throat. "There's this French restaurant someone told me about once. It's new. Well, it's been open for a few months now, but new_ish_ anyway. I, uh, wondered if you'd like to have dinner on Friday. With me."

Jen froze. Of all the things she'd thought he might say, that was probably the one thing she hadn't prepared for.

"Are you…are you asking me out on a date?" she asked, disbelieving her own ears.

"Well, you could call it that. Or you could call it two old friends catching up for a drink, if you wanted to."

A slow smiled stretched over Jen's face as she took a deep breath and sank back into the chair cushions, the phone still pressed to her ear.

Back in the hospital, when she'd tried to explain, when she'd pleaded for him to understand, she'd thought he hadn't been listening. It was beginning to dawn on her that, actually, he had.

Greg House was asking her out on a date. And Jen knew that her life was about to begin, all over again.

"Oh, a date, let's call it a date."

.

THE END


End file.
